Thirteen Hundred Miles
by Barbie Shoes
Summary: "Thirteen hundred miles away, and still I couldn't seem to escape her..." — Sara's POV. Femmslash, Cath/Sara.
1. Chapter 1

Torrential rain distorted the windows of my Minneapolis apartment, further obscuring my view of an already foreign city. Why I chose to stay here I'm not entirely sure, though I suspect it stemmed from the mere lack of want to go anywhere else. I couldn't follow him. I thought Grissom had possessed my heart; I certainly hadn't brought it with me when I fled Vegas, parading around the jungle knowing a part of myself was missing, as though the organ itself had been stolen from my chest.

When I'd turned to see Grissom emerging from the trees I thought I would be whole again, that my heart had returned. Though by the time we returned to the states, it had become achingly apparent that it had been lost elsewhere. I didn't know where to begin to look for it, and I didn't know how to tell Gil. He asked me if I would go with him to Minnesota, to visit his old colleagues or mentors; I don't remember now. I agreed, some aberrant part of my brain telling me that perhaps I would find the rest of myself buried in the snow of the frigid city, fiercely ignoring the rational side that told me I couldn't have lost something in a place I'd never been.

He left, I stayed behind. It wasn't that I didn't love him, I did. I tried to. The first time I ran I told him that I would miss him, with every beat of my heart. That I would always love him. I meant it and I missed him terribly now, alone in this city I had made my own prison. I didn't miss him the way he would have wanted me to though so I didn't call, choosing instead to choke on my solitude.

I stared out the window, still curtained by the rain, watching flashes of yellow and red lights that I could only assume were those of the few cars unyielding to the storm. I wasn't used to the changing of the seasons: perpetual showers that turned to snow and then back again. It didn't rain like this in Vegas, though I learned that I had missed their first snowfall in nearly thirty years while I was away. I'd probably missed a lot since I'd been away.

I tried not to think about Vegas too much, but the gloom from outside had already seeped its way into my soul. I missed the strip, the lights, the heat. I missed walking the familiar halls of the cool blue lab that had felt more like a home than any place I'd lived, the people that had been more like a family than that which I was born into. I missed Nick and Greg, and of course Warrick. I missed Catherine. I didn't want to miss Catherine.

I heard the rain turn to hail as I thought of Catherine, the light tapping on the protruding bit of the air conditioner in the window now ringing through the whole unit, escalating to an angry pounding as that too found its way into my soul. I was supposed to see my therapist in forty-five minutes, the thought of bailing crossing my mind both on account of the storm outside and the one now raging inside me. I wasn't particularly rich these days though, so I figured I might as well get my money's worth.

I decided I better get a head start, her office being located in Minneapolis's even more foreign twin of St Paul. I pulled on the jacket I had finally bought after a month of trying to make due with one less adequate for the below freezing temperatures, fishing briefly into the oversized pocket to be sure my keys were still tucked inside. With no reason left to prolong my leaving, I finally abandoned my sparsely furnished apartment with its barren walls, thinking I really should get around to unpacking one of these days. It was depressing though, having nothing to hang on the walls. Pictures of the team would only make think of them more often and miss them constantly. I wasn't even sure I could bare to see Catherine's picture watching me everyday.

I opened the main door to discover the rain had once again morphed into white powder. I knew this meant the roads were going to be even worse, as the inhabitants of this city seemed to forget how to drive in the snow with each new falling, but at least I wouldn't get soaked on my way to and from the car. I produced a pack of cigarettes from my other pocket, severely craving one since the rain had prevented me from going outside for some time. The first puff of smoke intermingled with my frozen breath as they synchronously left my lips, an image of myself offering Catherine a piece of Nicorette appearing in my mind from the first day we met. She would be disappointed if she knew I was smoking again.

I shook my head vehemently, telling it as forcefully as I could without making a scene to 'shut the fuck up' about Catherine. I didn't usually smoke in the car, but I decided to make an exception today since I knew I'd be running late, hurriedly making my way towards my vehicle in an attempt to outrun my thoughts.

As suspected, traffic was moving at the speed of whatever comes just after 'nothing.' The pace was destined to be far too long a drive for me to be sitting idle with my currently disloyal mind running away with its musings. I turned up the radio, the roar of the speakers temporarily drowning out the noise in my head.

A white blanket had already begun to swallow up the road, along with the walkways and lawns that lay beside it. It took nearly the full forty-five minutes before my car came crawling up in front of the house my therapist ran her practice out of. It was an expensive looking home, though not intimidatingly so. I began to make my way to the side door, cursing as I set my foot down and it fell deeper than expected, filling my shoe with snow.

The door to her office was still closed, leaving me barricaded in the cramped entryway occupied only by a small bench that I couldn't help thinking looked more like a church pew. It was the one thing that unnerved me when I was here, never really having been of the church going sort. Most of my memories of church were also those of funerals: my father, Warrick, a small handful of others. Final farewells. I had never been good at saying goodbye; I wondered if my family back in Vegas understood that. I hadn't meant to abandon them, I just couldn't bare to see their faces as I told them I was leaving. I wasn't sure I could have bared to hear myself say it out loud and still find the courage to go.

The commotion of a door opening startled me, revealing Carroll, my therapist. An older woman with graying hair to just past her shoulders, she wore wire rimmed glasses and had deep laugh lines around her mouth that made her cheeks vaguely resemble the jowls of a dog. She had a reassuring smile though, and matronly demeanor that made me comfortable enough to at least attempt to open up to her.

"Sara Sidle," she addressed me with an inviting grin. "I was hoping I would still be seeing you today."

I smiled back awkwardly as I stood, not really understanding why she found my decision to show up so exhilarating. I followed her to the next room, taking my usual seat on the far sofa while my eyes traveled the spines of books overrunning the shelves. To this day I couldn't tell you the name of a single book on those shelves, employing them merely as a place to rest my eyes in avoidance of meeting Carroll's.

She took a seat next to the dining table she used as a desk, making an innocuous comment about the snow, which wasn't particularly necessary but probably meant to ease me into a conversational mood.

I watched Carroll open my file and then a notebook, placing the latter in her lap with a deep cleansing breath before declaring "Let's get started, shall we?" I nodded, deterring my stare back to the shelves beside me.

"How are things with Matt?" she inquired.

"They're not," I casually informed her.

"You broke up?"

I shrugged, deliberately showing my apathy. "Not really. He hasn't called, I haven't minded. We were never officially a couple anyway."

She nodded. "True. But you had mentioned you thought there might be potential there."

"Potential doesn't mean I was ready to sneak off to Vegas and marry the guy," I explained, cringing at my accidental reference to Vegas.

"Of course not," Carroll agreed again. "I simply meant that it seemed like this relationship gave you a sense of hope for the future. What changed?"

"Nothing changed. See, that's the thing. It never grew, it was never hard. Not that loving someone should be challenging, not all the time anyway. But the thought of losing him, being without him, it never frightened me. I mean, you can't love someone and not fear their absence at least a little, right?"

"Perhaps," she replied, pausing to make a note. "When was the last time you felt this fear for someone?"

I stopped to think for the first time. Of course I had feared losing Grissom, but not the way we we're talking about here and I knew she was well aware of that. The more I thought about it, the less I wanted to answer the question.

"When I left Las Vegas," I finally replied, purposely vague.

I should have known she wouldn't let it slide. "Who were you afraid of losing in Vegas?"

"I don't know." It wasn't the whole truth, but I hoped she would drop the subject. For the moment, she seemed to be willing to comply.

"Alright then, we'll return to this topic another time," she said, jotting it down in her notebook. "I think we're making some good progress dealing with the issues from your childhood," she began again, skimming through her older notes. "We can continue to discuss them when and if you'd like, but today I'd like to try switching gears and address some of your more current issues."

I frowned. "What current issues?"

Her expression implied she thought I was bluffing, avoiding the question with another question, though I honestly wasn't sure what she meant.

"Are you ready to talk about Catherine?" she asked, causing me to groan internally. Thirteen hundred miles away, and still I couldn't seem to escape her.

"No," I replied firmly, using a tone that was usually effective for killing a subject.

"Sara, you brought up this Catherine woman at our first meeting, and have refused to acknowledge the topic ever since. Why do you think that is?"

This is why I didn't like therapy. I didn't like questions like that, intended to send me digging into the hidden chambers of my mind for an enlightening answer. I didn't have one; I never did. I figured if the answer was buried that deep, there was probably a reason it should stay there. "Because there's nothing to talk about."

From the corner of my eye I saw her deposit her notebook on the makeshift desk, leaning forward slightly on her arms. Only when I finally turned to face her did she speak. "I don't want to push you Sara, but your attitude towards this topic and your reluctance to face it does lead me to believe that it will have to be addressed eventually."

I couldn't see why she was being so persistent. Just because I didn't see any relevance to discussing Catherine was no reason to conclude it was an issue.

"Look," I started, determined to diffuse the situation. "I've just had enough Catherine for one day already, I don't really see any reason to push this."

Carroll looked puzzled. "Did you see Catherine today? Speak to her on the phone?"

So much for getting out of that one, I was digging a hole big time now. "No… No, of course not," I dismissed the topic again with a wave of my hand.

"Then how have you had enough of her?" she implored me. "Have you been thinking about her?"

I really should have bailed on my session. I felt my emotions, messy little bastards that they are, beginning to work their way to the surface. "Not really," I shrugged my shoulders. "Not extensively anyway."

"Does thinking about Catherine upset you?"

"No." I turned back to the shelf, unable to confront her questioning stare any longer. Carroll was regarding me carefully, analyzing my every word and gesture for hidden truths. Truths that were quiet deliberately concealed, many even to myself. I began to fidget apprehensively, knowing a question was being delicately formulated and considered before it would be blasted upon me.

"Sara," she began, still seeming to thoughtfully pick over her words. "Have you ever had feelings for another woman before?"

I knew she'd struck a nerve, feeling a flash of panic before my limbs seemed to go numb. "I never said I had feelings for Catherine," I spat back.

Carroll's voice remained level. "Nor did I."

I felt the heat creeping up my back, neck and cheeks, my whole body burning with embarrassment as I desperately tried to free myself from the once comfortable sweater that had suddenly become as suffocating as a noose. "You implied it," I hissed. "It was a trick question."

"No tricks Sara." She raised her hands as though in surrender. "I simply wanted you to explore the possibility."

"Well I don't." She'd promised not to push me until I was ready, and that promise had been broken. I wasn't ready for this. "I'm done talking about Catherine." I knew I was pouting, my arms folded defiantly across my chest.

"Very well, Ms Sidle," Carroll agreed with a glance at her watch, irritatingly aloof now that I was revved up for a fight. "That actually concludes our session for today. I hope you'll take the week to mull everything over, and consider discussing this further at our next meeting."

"Whatever."

I knew it wasn't a very adult reply, nor was the way I snatched my belongings off the couch and stormed out the door, not even bothering to put on my coat. My body still felt feverish as the winter air bit my skin, the stinging cold actually providing some relief for once. I lit a cigarette as I marched back to my car, figuring I'd already smoked in there today so there was no real point in abstaining. In reality I didn't want to wait until I got home to smoke, but I needed to get out of there, deciding taking the cigarette along was the lesser of three evils.

My mood was too foul for music now as I punched the radio off, forcing my way through the snow on the streets. In the silence my thoughts screamed loudly, too loudly to distinguish one from the other. When I finally managed to quiet them down enough to take turns, I began to wonder what it was I was so angry about. Carroll probably had thought I was ready, it wasn't her fault. It wasn't as though I'd made a particularly astounding discovery either. I had ignored it with all of my might, but the notion had always been there, even if as nothing more than a possibility with a giant question mark hanging off the end.

It wasn't like the question mark had been erased either, the question had simply been rephrased. Back in Vegas, I knew that I'd always gazed a little too long, that my heart beat a little too fast whenever she entered the room, that she was on my mind just a little too often. I tried blaming it all on every thing from admiration to jealousy. Still, every now and then, that terrifying question would rear it's ugly head: Did I feel something for Catherine? Every time the thought ignited itself, I'd snuff it out just as quickly. Though today, it had for the first time been given the chance to burn just long enough to melt away the top layer and take on a new shape. So I did feel something, apparently for some time without acknowledging it. The question was no longer whether there was something there, but rather "What is it?"

By the time I entered my apartment, I decided that ultimately it didn't matter. I wasn't going to call her, I wasn't going back to Vegas, I wasn't going to do anything. I was here now, in this city of snow and rain, presumably with an upcoming summer hidden in between. It might not be home, but this is where I was. Looking around my desolate living area, I decided it was time to settle in. Deep down I knew it was just an act of defiance, to show myself that I didn't care, a faulty declaration that this was where I wanted to be. Still I put my coat in the closet, and began opening boxes one by one, pointedly ignoring the one in the far corner labeled "photos."


	2. Chapter 2

The glare of the sun was intensified as it reflected off the fresh snow, bouncing off the walls of my empty white room then back again, giving the place an oddly ethereal glow. Sleep no longer being an option as the light burned its way through my heavy lids, I rolled myself off the full sized mattress on the floor that I was still calling my bed. After some effort I freed myself from the sheets, toddling my way into the living area in pursuit of coffee.

The angelic quality evaporated at the door, giving way to a wasteland of boxes and their half forgotten contents radiating across the floor. I'd only gotten as far as arranging the some of the items into semi-organized piles before my anger wore off and I realized I really didn't care, submitting myself to several hours of mindless crap on the television before I finally went to bed. It's not like I ever had company over; even Matt had never been privy to knowing where I lived during our brief liaison. Unpacking was just too final, despite my determination to remain here.

I unearthed my cell phone from beneath the wreckage, momentarily perplexed by the flashing light that told me I had a voice mail. More curious as to who would be calling than what they had to say, I dialed into my message box.

"Hey, Sara! Matt calling. Haven't heard from you in a while, I thought we were really hitting it off and I'd love to see you again. Give me a call. I know you're busy, I'll try you again if I don't hear from you."

I groaned out loud. Looks like I wasn't rid of him yet. Not only that, he was going to call back, forcing me to talk to him eventually. I thought I'd gotten off easy when he hadn't call for so long, saving me the ordeal of breaking up. The only reason he was going to call back was because he thought I might be too busy to remember to return his call. I was never busy, unless chain smoking and day dreaming qualified. I just told him that from time to time, to keep some distance.

The hunk of plastic in my hand began vibrating almost instantly. "Speak of the fucking devil," I muttered to myself, debating whether or not to answer. Matt was a good guy though, he deserved to at least hear it from me that our fling had come to an end.

"Hey Sara! Did you get my message?" he asked before I'd barely said "Hello."

"Yeah, just now. Look Matt-"

"There's a great local band playing downtown tonight," he interrupted. "I wanted to see if you'd like to check it out? My treat."

I felt bad, I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I figured it would hurt less if he didn't see it coming, like snapping a dislocated bone back into place. "Matt that's really nice, but I can't."

"What about tomorrow night?" He pushed. "They're playing through the weekend."

"No Matt. You're not listening. I can't… I can't be in a relationship right now."

Shocked silence took over briefly. "You're ending this?" He sounded genuinely dumbfounded.

"I'm sorry, really I am. I'm just…" I grasped for a word, settling for my usual fallback. "I'm really busy."

"That's not the real reason," he accused.

"I've got to go. Bye Matt." I quickly hung up the phone, feeling he was on the verge of begging, saving him the humiliation of doing so and myself the agony of hearing it. My phone began to vibrate again. "Jesus Christ!" I yelled before flipping it open. "What?"

"Sara?" I froze, my heart dropping down to my gut. The voice was definitely not Matt's. It couldn't be her though, could it? It simply didn't make sense, it had to be my imagination. "Hello? Sara is that you?" I snapped the phone shut as I became sure who the speaker was. How had Catherine gotten my number? Why was she calling? Hanging up on her suddenly seemed like it hadn't been the best plan, but when the phone started ringing again, this time seeing her name on the screen as I actually bothered to look, I couldn't bring myself to answer it. I was embarrassed by my spastic response to hearing her voice, but even more so something inside me was terrified at the thought of speaking with her. Catherine really wasn't a frightening person to those that knew her, but still she scared me.

The message alert light began taunting me again. I needed coffee, and a cigarette. Breakfast, in other words, at least these days. I would listen to the message later, with a straighter head on my shoulders.

I grabbed my coat, coffee and smokes and headed out to the tiny shelf I dared to call my balcony. It was warmer out today, sunny even; the snow already beginning to melt as it dripped off the awnings like an assembly of leaky faucets. It would probably be gone by tomorrow, leaving behind only slushy piles of dirt that clung to your shoes and the carriages of cars. After smoking my cigarette practically through the butt, the visible signs of my nervousness had passed, and the mug in my hand finally stopped shaking. My thoughts, however, were far from still.

What was with the sudden foray of Catherine? Sneaking up on me in my own mind, being forced to confront her in therapy, and now this phone call. Again, I began to wonder why she had called. The more I wondered, the more I began to worry. What if something was wrong? What if someone else had died? The more I worried, the less I wanted to hear the message. If it was bad news, I wasn't sure I could take it.

I knew I was probably working myself up for nothing. If something was really wrong, wouldn't Nick have called me? Or Greg? Unless something happened to them… I had to stop thinking, I was never going to know until I listened to the message.

I stubbed out my cigarette and went back inside, setting my coffee on the floor by the lonely futon while I discarded my jacket, thinking a table or chair might be a good investment in the near future. Making myself as comfortable as I could on the lumpy seat, I tucked my knees up under my chin, starring at the phone in my hand, willing it to make the decision for me. At last, I gave in, dialing my voicemail for the second time that morning, a rare event indeed. I wished the automated voice were a living being, wanting to tell her to shut up and get on with it as she guided me painfully slowly through the steps I already knew to my inbox. "You have… one… unheard message…" I couldn't tell if I was more afraid of my internal ramblings being right, or a simple greeting from Catherine. I took a breath, finding it trapped in my lungs while I waited for the message to start.

"Sara, it's Catherine. I haven't… we haven't heard from you in a while here. I've talked to Grissom, I know about… you know. It's not the same here without you… all of you. Grissom and Warrick, too. I just needed… never mind. I'd rather talk to you than your voice mail. Give me a call when you can, let me know your okay. Bye."

A lump was forming in the back of my throat, realizing that message was the first contact I'd had with anyone in my Vegas family since I'd left Grissom. She'd sounded… Sad? Worried? Something. She didn't sound like Catherine. Did she miss me? It almost sounded like she did. A part of me wanted to reach out to her so badly, but I wasn't ready. She would have so many questions, and I so few answers.

"To delete this message, press seven," the automated voice instructed. "To save it in the archives, press nine." My finger moved to the seven, but in the end landed on the nine. It was probably a mistake, saving this piece of Catherine to carry with me wherever I went. I was giving her permission to haunt me, letting the ghosts back into my soul. I couldn't delete it though, not yet. I just needed a little something to hold on to- just for now.

The hour or so since I'd woken up had already been far more eventful than most of my entire days here. It made me want to go back to bed; I'd had my fill of excitement for the day. That wasn't a routine I wanted to allow myself to fall into though: wasting days away with sleep in order to make it to night, hoping that maybe tomorrow would be a good day. So I forced myself to remain planted on my uneven futon, sipping my coffee as slowly as I could in the hopes that when the contents were drained, I might have some idea what to do with myself the rest of the day.

I could swear that I'd forgotten how to have fun. The notion seemed ridiculous, but I just couldn't fathom the idea of fun anymore. What had I done for fun in Vegas? I knew I could remember good times there, but I didn't know how to translate them to here. I feared that even if I were to return to Vegas, I wouldn't be able to learn again. I wondered what the team was doing these days, what we might be doing together now if I had stayed.

The singular container that remained untouched from the previous night's onslaught caught my eye, the urge to take a peek inside swiftly taking me over. The more I thought I shouldn't, the stronger the desire became. I was Pandora and it my forbidden box, though I doubt Pandora would have been so tempted to open her own had she known its contents the way I did mine. I knew the consequences, but Pandora and I shared in a lack of prolonged self restraint.

I set my half empty mug on the carpet, hesitantly gravitating towards the brown cube. Eve had eventually eaten the apple, too. I was simply the most recent in a long line of women that had succumbed to temptation. Though, I was only being disloyal to myself, and my defiance wouldn't unleash unknown evil or original sin upon the world. In the end, the only one I could hurt was me.

I unfolded the lid, an invisible layer of dust wafting up to my nose from the long untouched flaps. There on top, as though patiently awaiting retrieval all these months, was a framed photo of the team, my family. The same picture Greg and I had found proudly displayed on Warrick's dresser after having learned of his death. The thought of Warrick drew my eyes to his image, a hint of sadness touching me. At least he had been happy here; this picture had captured a good day for all of us. Next I found Grissom, still feeling guilt but knowing I had made the right choice as I looked upon his face and felt only a platonic love. Then Nick and Greg; my guys, my partners in crime, so to speak. I'd always been one of the boys. I could talk cars, sports, and carry on with the best of them. Not to say they saw me as a 'boy' per se, but Catherine was the lady of the group. She was the sexy one, the seductress, the mother; all rolled into one.

Catherine. I allowed my eyes to settle on her form: hip jutting out to one side, a full, inviting smile on her mouth. Classically Catherine. I felt my chest begin to tighten, the way I'd always figured positional asphyxia might feel, on a lesser scale. I had forgotten just how beautiful she really is. That didn't seem possible to forget, I knew she was beautiful, and her face haunted me both day and night. Yet, somehow still as I looked at her photo, she took my breath away. I'm sure Catherine has always had that effect on people. I just never realized I was one of them.

There's an old quote about love: _"You can close your eyes to the things you do not want to see, but you cannot close your heart to the things you do not want to feel."_ Though, I would hesitate to describe what I was feeling as love – at least not in the almighty sense of the word – I realized that tucking my feelings away in a cardboard box had been a useless endeavor. Out of sight had never been out of mind.

I found looking at the picture really wasn't so painful at all, save for the slight sting of longing. Mostly, though, I felt comfort in their smiling faces, remembering that once upon a time I had known how to have fun. That no amount of time or distance had changed what these people meant to me. I picked myself up off the floor, propping the photo on top of my television. They may not be here, but they were with me. The picture would remind me of that.

As for Catherine, I would just have to figure that out as I went. I still wasn't sure what it was I was feeling for her, I only knew that I missed her, and I was afraid. The combination pointed in an obvious direction, but I had never looked at her in a romantic light. Perhaps my heart had indeed seen something I had shut my eyes to. I needed time to figure it out. I would call her, but not today.


	3. Chapter 3

Catherine's first call had come on Friday. Saturday and Sunday each yielded a missed call. Monday she left another voicemail, simply stating once again that she wanted to hear from me and would I please call her back. I had sat all night with her number displayed on my screen, my thumb flittering back and forth over the send button as I repeatedly found and then lost my nerve. In the end I had declared myself a coward and gone to bed, hoping maybe tomorrow I could just answer the damn phone and get it over with.

The sun rose and set on Tuesday though with no call, and so far today had been fruitless as well. I expected to be relieved, now having all the time in the world to ready myself, but I couldn't help feeling disappointed. As much as I dreaded each call I had to ignore, it had felt good knowing she was thinking of me, reaching out to me. It was selfish being upset about not getting a call I was most likely not to answer anyway. I suppose after four days I would have given up on me too.

I was making my return trip home from the gas station, dancing my way around the ponds of melted snow that had formed along the uneven sidewalk. The week had seen a steady increase in temperatures, enough for me to switch back to a lighter jacket. I never thought I would be thankful for temps in the 40s, but compared to the last few months, it was paradise. I knew full well my phone hadn't rang all day, but I pulled it out and checked anyway, just in case I'd missed it. As suspected, it was all in vain. Replacing the phone, I extracted my freshly purchased cigarettes in one fell swoop to my pocket.

A taxi rolled by, stirring up the murky soup on the street. I wondered, as I often did, about the cab's fare; whether they were fleeing the way I had, or were perhaps lucky enough to be returning home. Perhaps they were heading to work or taking a vacation. Just an Average Joe living his life. There wasn't really much point in speculating, though if you spend enough time alone with your thoughts they are sure to take some pretty pointless turns.

I half noticed the cab parked across the street from my building as I closed in on the main door, though I chose to ignore it, having lost interest in wondering about strangers for the time being. I fumbled around for my keys, having forgotten which pocket I put them in, as usual. When I found them, they promptly clattered to the ground.

"Well, you certainly know how to disappear," a voice startled me from behind, nearly knocking me off my balance as I retrieved the fallen keys. When I turned to face the voice, I was certain I had to be hallucinating; that my brain had cut out an image of Catherine and pasted it on this Minneapolis backdrop. Yet there she was, reality setting in as I noticed the suitcase paused on it's wheels behind her, the cab across the street finally pulling out and disappearing down the road.

She was smiling at me warmly, if not slightly unsure of herself. She looked tired, and a little older, though certainly no less beautiful than when I'd left. I thought I should be angry at her for finding me, but I couldn't feel it. Instead I walked towards her, my body acting independent of my brain as I knotted my arms around her. My own actions took me by surprise; it seemed to stun her briefly as well. Even so she returned the sentiment. She felt so small in my embrace, yet still seemed to fit there perfectly.

"What are you doing here?" I asked her in a strangled voice that even I barely recognized as my own. I pulled back a little, not really ready to but also not wanting to make her uncomfortable, realizing it was probably the only time we'd hugged aside from my return to Vegas when Warrick died. Not to mention I was certain she could feel my heart racing with the way it was currently punching my own chest from the inside.

"You disappeared- again. No one has seen or heard from you in 6 months. I just flew thirteen-hundred miles across the country to find you, and that's all you have to say to me?" Her serious tone was foiled by one side of her mouth unconsciously curling upwards, and a smile in her eyes that gave her away.

I smiled too, letting her know I knew she wasn't really angry. "Hello, Catherine."

The other side of her mouth joined the upturned half when I indulged her in a proper greeting. "Hi, Sara."

"What are you doing here?" I said again, careful not to have repetition come off as aggravation.

"You wouldn't return my calls," she explained simply. She pulled her coat tighter around her chest, changing the topic before I could counter. "Are you going to invite me in Sidle? It's freezing out here!"

I nodded an apology as I noticed Catherine shivering, realizing I must be more used to the cold than I thought. I ushered her in the door ahead of me, wanting to get her warm as quickly as possible. It wasn't really that cold, I was probably just being over-protective of her against the weather. There was an awkward moment as I followed her inside, my brain taking a moment to register that she didn't know where to go before we managed to shuffle our positions so I was in the lead.

She didn't speak, and I didn't know what to say, giving me the urge to walk softly as our footsteps and her luggage seemed to echo loudly down the hall in our silence. I could sense her analyzing every detail of her new surroundings, as we CSIs tend to do. I wondered what she was thinking, trying to take in the dull beige hallway through her perspective, though it failed to give me any insight. My nerves increased steadily with each step, still not having gotten an answer to why she was here. If I had ever imagined that anyone from Vegas would come searching for me, I had certainly never thought it would be her.

Opening the door to my apartment, I let her in ahead of me again, knowing the door would bang loudly if left to swing shut on it's own. I didn't usually worry about it, but something about this silence was too delicate to be broken by a slamming door.

I watched her tussle her fingers through her hair to revive it after sliding her coat down her arms. She looked around for a place to discard it, eventually draping it over her arm when she realized the closest piece of furniture was across the room.

"Just move in?" she asked, her eyes taking another moment to investigate the boxes and piles I had yet to clean up before she looked at me.

"No," I told her, removing my own jacket, then reaching out to take hers. "I've been busy." Had I really gotten this bad at social interaction? Busy. It was the same explanation I gave Matt to keep him at a distance. The moment I saw Catherine, I felt different; like I was me again, like things would be okay. The last thing I wanted to do was push her away, so I quickly corrected myself. "Actually, lazy is probably a better word. I don't really have company."

She turned and began surveying again. "Your place in Vegas was a lot more 'you,' I think."

I raked every last corner of my brain, but I could not remember her ever having been over. "When did you see my apartment?"

"I saw it once." She peered at me over her shoulder with a coy smile, letting me know I wasn't getting anymore out of her. When her body turned to join her head in facing me, she was giving me a funny look, like I was standing in my living room in a space suit and she didn't know why.

"What?" I finally asked when it became unnerving.

She shrugged. "Nothing… I just barely recognize you. Your hair is long." She emphasized her observation by lifting a strand, sliding her fingers down until it fell from her grasp. It was a tiny gesture, probably meaningless, though I couldn't help but notice the slight intimacy of it. "Are you eating enough?"

It was true, I'd lost quite a bit of weight due to a poor die,t and probably smoking as well. "Yes, _mother,_" I teased. "I doubt you flew all the way out here to investigate my eating habits, though."

"No, I didn't," she replied, still smiling, most likely in response to the smile I couldn't seem to shake off my face. Whether it was because of her, or the simple fact of having a piece of home here I wasn't sure. Suddenly I remembered why I had been so nervous to talk to her, feeling a slight wave of panic. I jumped a little when she placed a hand on my shoulder. "Sara, relax. I'll explain everything, I promise. Just let me figure out where I'm staying and get some food in me, then we'll talk, alright?"

I nodded, both relieved and further unnerved by her perceptiveness to my emotions. "Okay. You didn't book a hotel?"

The hand withdrew from my arm as she began patrolling around the apartment. "No. Cancellation fees, you know? I wasn't sure I'd find you. Or if you'd want me to stay." Her eyes found the picture perched on my television, followed briefly by her fingers as she smiled at some internal thought.

I wanted to assure her she was welcome, even if unexpected. At a loss for anything poetic to say, I decided to just go with what I was thinking. "It's really good to see you Catherine." She just smiled again, continuing her obvious snooping. "I'd let you stay here," I started, feeling like she was waiting for me to offer, "but the futon doesn't actually pull out anymore. So, unless you want to share my bed, I don't really have any place for you to sleep."

"I don't mind sharing," she replied casually. I had meant it as a joke, so I was certainly surprised when she took me up on the offer.

"If you're sure..." I felt just a touch uncomfortable at the prospect, given that I'd only recently figured out that I just might quite like Catherine in my bed. "I mean, it's not very big."

"Well neither are you these days," she poked back. "We'll fit. I'm guessing you're back on the take-out diet? Let's go get some real food. Put some meat back on those bones of yours."

Coming from anyone else I would have taken offense to her comment, but from Catherine I knew it wasn't a jab, it was just the ever present mother in her. I felt a little silly that I was enjoying being babied by Catherine. After all, I was a grown woman, and had been taking care of myself since long before I could even say that.

I told her I didn't really know much about restaurants in the area, which earned me another look one might give to a space alien. She let it slide though, helping herself to my lap top to search dining options, while I excused myself to the balcony.

So much had just happened so quickly, that it wasn't until I was finally alone that it really hit me. I had been so caught up in the happiness, the familiarity, the excitement of Catherine's arrival, that I hadn't quite comprehended how surreal the whole situation was. Aside from the initial shock of seeing her, I'd practically forgotten to be surprised. Something about her being here seemed so normal, like she should have been here all along, waiting in my living room for me to come inside from a smoke break.

"We're going to Azia. My treat," she announced, poking her head out the door. "You're smoking again?"

I stared at the half smoked stick in my hand as though I could find some way to deny it, feeling like a busted teenager. "Oh… yea. Sorry," I stuttered. "Cat, that place is expensive. I can't let you pay for me."

"Oh, so now you do know something about the restaurants here?" she quipped. "Don't worry about it. It's the least I can do for stealing half your bed. Let's go," she commanded, throwing, "put that thing out," over her shoulder on her way back inside. I dipped the butt into a little pool of water that had formed on the railing to extinguish it, not realizing I was willingly following orders until I'd already done so.

"Walk or ride?" I asked on my way back in.

Her upper lip curled a bit, the kind of face a kid makes right before complaining about doing the dishes. "Isn't it kind of cold to walk?"

I had to laugh at her just a little. "It's a good thing you didn't show up a couple months ago. You'd have really gotten to experience some cold then." I teased. "Azia isn't too far. I see it all the time on my way to… St Paul." I caught myself at the last second, not really sure I wanted to tell her I was in therapy.

"What's in St Paul?" she asked, as I should have known she would. "Boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend? No." I firmly squashed the notion. She seemed to accept it, but something in my head compelled me to push it further. "I was seeing someone for a while. Briefly. Very briefly, actually. He just… wasn't who I wanted." Even my want for privacy was squandered by my sudden urge to prove myself. "Therapy. That's what's in St Paul."

The moment I finished I knew that I had been over talking, the way I used to with Grissom before we dated. There certainly wouldn't be any reason Catherine should care who or if I was dating and when, and despite everything I had been feeling recently I told myself there was no reason I should care if she knew either. The over talking was a bad sign though. I couldn't lose my self control with her.

"Okay…" Though only a single worded reply, her tone clearly told me I needed to take a breath and calm down. I was beginning to feel completely out of my depth, like when you were little and tried to touch the floor in the deep end of the swimming pool, only to discover you'd gone further than your lungs could handle. I needed to find the surface fast, before I suffocated.

"I could really use the fresh air," I guided myself back on track. "If you don't mind, I mean. You could barrow my winter coat."

I went to fetch the retired coat as she nodded her consent. Holding it open for her while she slid her arms inside, I felt silly when I noticed the first date like chivalry of the gesture. I hid the feeling away for fear of another curious look or loaded 'okay.'

The jacket was far too big for her, hanging loosely over her middle and all but concealing her hands. She pretended to strike a super model pose. "How do I look?"

I had to laugh. She looked adorable. Of course, there was no way I was going to say that out loud. "Like a little girl playing dress up in her mom's clothes."

"Good, that's exactly how I feel." She laughed along. "Jeez Sara, you sure know how to make a girl feel sexy." She sounded flirtatious, though I knew that couldn't have been her intent. The look on her face wasn't helping to cease the twisting sensation that had appeared in my gut either; that sexy smirk topped by wide blue eyes smiling up at me. Little did she know I would have let her get away with murder for that look, even back in Vegas. Fortunately for me, we generally went straight to arguing, lest I be tempted to do her bidding. I hated it when she gave me that look.

"Since when is it my job to make you feel sexy?" Masking my feelings with a joke and a smirk of my own seemed like the only plausible way out of this one. "I'm just being honest."

"Don't even bother pursing your lips at me," she playfully warned. "I am immune to your charms."

"I certainly hope you don't think yours have any affect on me." We'd always been good at banter. Granted it tended to get us into sticky situations more often than not, but then there were these moments, when it was all in jest, playing seamlessly off one another's wit. Those moments made up some of my fondest memories.

"Well, I'm sure I don't know," she countered, her voice dropping an octave as she slowly moved towards me. "I don't believe I've ever tried."

She stopped right in front of me. I was frozen in place aside from my palpitating heart, my lungs screaming for air that I couldn't seem to provide. Suffocating. She had that look on her face again; that expression that would make me give her anything. Against everything I knew, I could swear she was about to kiss me. Against everything my brain was screaming at me, I couldn't run away.

"Huh," Catherine puffed casually. "Seems like they just might." She sidestepped me and made her way to the door, doing little to conceal the victorious smirk on her face. With a little willpower I managed to convince my legs to turn me around and follow her out the door.

In that brief moment, without intent, Catherine Willows had robbed me of my ability to lie to myself any longer.


	4. Chapter 4

They say acceptance is the first step towards recovery. That's all well and good, though it seems equally vital to know exactly what it is one wishes to recover from. Did I want the feelings to go away? Yes. Did I wish I could act on them? Another resounding, albeit conflicting, 'yes.'

Whether the debilitation be physical or mental, much fuss is made over the 'first step.' Sure it's a move in the right direction, but the second step, the third, the fourth are just as trying. It's not until many painstaking steps later that things start getting any better.

I had wanted Catherine to kiss me; there was no denying that, no denying what I know I felt in that moment. Whether you find the truth or it finds you, once it is known it cannot be unlearned. Truth. They say it will set you free. In retrospect, tormenting as it may have been, ignorance had indeed been bliss.

Surrounded by the glowing snow, with the sun bouncing off her hair and pale skin, she certainly looked angelic; if you could ignore my frumpy coat. Apparently that wasn't a particularly difficult feat as, even drowning in its folds, necks craned to watch her go by. As far as I could tell, Catherine could walk into any room and take her pick of the litter. I didn't stand a chance.

The strange thing was that, despite her being historically attracted to men, my being a woman wasn't the first thing to discourage me. My initial deterrent was simply: Why would someone like her ever be attracted to me? It wasn't that I considered myself homely or wholly unlikable. She was, quite frankly, just out of my league. In your average teen movie, she would be the girl that ruled the school, the cheer captain and automatic prom queen. I, on the other hand, would be the smart, lonely kid in the lunchroom that eventually got a makeover and maybe became popular by affiliation.

"Sara, don't take this the wrong way," she stopped my train of thought. "But I think it's great that you're, you know, getting help."

The preface to her question notwithstanding, I felt my hackles rise. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, trying to keep my irritation in check.

She sighed. "No offense."

"None taken." Even I cringed at the sarcasm dripping off my words.

"I just meant I'm proud of you. I'm glad you're taking care of yourself, that's all," she explained, and I felt myself relax. I didn't want to be mad at her anyway. "I've been worried about you."

"Worried? Why?" I asked, disguising the glee that hit me at the knowledge she'd thought about me since I'd been away.

"Maybe it's a mom-thing," she shrugged. "After what happened to Warrick… I just worry, Sara."

Saying it out loud seemed to genuinely upset her. "Cat," I gently stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, waiting for her to look at me before I continued. "I'm not going anywhere. Not like that."

She nodded, but averted her eyes. "You almost did. If we hadn't found you when we did…"

"You did find me," I cut her off. "That's what matters Catherine. Don't let the past haunt you. We spend so much time worrying, and ninety-percent of the things we worry about will never happen. The other ten-percent are out of our control. You were Warrick's friend; you were there for him. That's all you could have done."

"If you had died, out there in the desert, no one would be standing here telling me it was alright because I had been there for you. I wasn't."

"Our team's a family, Cat," I assured her. "I know you wouldn't have given up on me any sooner than the rest of them."

She placed a hand over mine that was still resting on her shoulder, sending a small smile that I took to say she believed me. "You sure have changed."

"Therapy," I joked. "It gives me all sorts of crazy new insights."

She laughed, finally seeming to let go of the topic. I released her shoulder as we continued walking, only to find her arm linked with my own, the way teenage girls do to keep up with each other at the mall. It seemed somewhat out of character for her; maybe something she picked up from Lindsey. Either way, I certainly didn't mind.

It was funny how quickly the switch had been flipped in my head. One moment I'm horrified at the mere prospect of having any type of feelings for Catherine, the next I'm basking in the slightest touch or look. Not to say I wasn't still terrified, or had any idea what my next step should be. In this moment though, walking arm in arm with the woman apparently of my dreams, it didn't matter. At least for the next block.

I realized I should be taking my own advice; stop worrying so much about what the future held for me. I had to deal with this as I went, the days and minutes as they came. Baby steps, one foot in front of the other. That's all any of us can do.

With Catherine linked to my arm, I shortened my stride so she wouldn't have to skip to keep up. "So…" I started, feeling the need to fill the silence. "How are things? Back in Vegas, I mean."

"Different, I guess." She replied. "Nicky and Greg are great, I don't know what I'd do without them. Grissom found us a new guy before he left, Ray Langston. You'd like him I think. He's very smart. Ambitious too. Reminds me of you a little, though he's a bit more… mild mannered." She smiled a briefly before sighing and continuing. "We are short handed though. Riley bailed on us; I could tell she didn't think too highly of me. I'm pretty sure she hated me actually, and not just the way you did."

"I never hated you, Catherine… Okay, maybe a little as my superior," I teased. "But certainly never as a person." I kept my comment light, but it stung a little to think that she could have actually believed I hated her.

"No, of course not." She flashed me a grin. "We were good at going at each other's throats, without a doubt. But I always knew if it was anyone else coming at me, you'd take 'em down in a second."

"Right." I nodded, trying not to let my smile become too indulgent when her grip tightened on my arm.

"Can we talk about this later?" she implored. "It has to do with why I'm here."

"Of course," I replied, though I wished she would just tell me what was on her mind. We stopped at the light, one last street to cross before we reached our destination on the opposite corner. I could smell her hair given our proximity and the direction the breeze was blowing; a scent I'd had few opportunities to revel in, though one I'd always enjoyed nonetheless. It was becoming increasingly difficult to resist the urge to treat my fingertips with a touch of the fiery golden locks. Silence was proving to be a very unhealthy fuel for my runway train of thought.

"So you think I'm smart, huh?" I chirped, referring back to her earlier comment as the light finally permitted us to cross.

She smirked, but rolled her eyes with a little click of her tongue to say she knew I was being facetious. "Try not to let it inflate your ego too much."

My arm was returned to me as we entered the restaurant, not that I had been particularly eager to get it back. Safe from the cold she immediately shed my oversized coat, revealing the stylish pantsuit and silky green blouse that perfectly outlined her flawless shape. I could swear the whole room stopped to take a second look.

As many times as I'd passed it by, I had never actually been inside Azia. While it didn't exactly feel as though we had transcended the globe to the continent, it had certainly been an inspiration — albeit with a Western twist, much like it's name. The lights were low, with little tea light candles in glass cups adorning the tables. Leather seats invited you into the waiting area; the tables, chairs, and various other fixtures made of dark wood, or a convincing substitute. My eye caught small statue of a man riding some sort of mythical beast among the array of trinkets that made up the décor. It was both elegant and sensual, the kind of place you would expect to see a woman like Catherine.

A young man, who looked to me almost prepubescent, led us to a table at the far end of the restaurant. I watched as Catherine stole away the attention of men dining with their girlfriends and wives, even if only for a second. Those same women hardly seemed to notice their partner's wandering eyes as they too seemed transfixed; some in envy, some in awe. It wasn't just that she was beautiful. Certainly all these patrons had encountered beautiful women before. Catherine had a confidence though, an aura about her that demanded your attention, regardless of gender or orientation.

Junior informed us our server would be with us shortly as we took our seats.

"Doesn't it ever make you uncomfortable?" I asked when the young host was gone. "People staring at you like that?"

She looked around the room, though by then most of the gawkers had caught themselves and managed to reel their eyes back into their heads. Her brow crinkled. "Like what?"

"Well, they're not doing it now," I conceded. "On the way in, every single person was staring at you. Like you were a… piece of meat… or something." I shuddered a little.

"Oh. Well if they do anything more than look, I'll let you kick their asses," she said, with a knowing smirk that made me just a touch uncomfortable. "Sound good?"

"Why would I want to kick anyone's ass?" I asked, feeling like I may have said more than intended by bringing it up.

The smirk expanded and she shrugged. "Oh I don't know," she replied in a voice that intentionally feigned innocence. "You sure seemed ready for a fight."

I thanked whatever higher power there may be for the dim lighting, feeling my cheeks burst into flames. Seemed my tone had indeed revealed the extent of my distain for the lingering looks of strangers. Our server, a perky young blonde, arrived to take our drink orders just in time to save me from having to further explain myself.

"I will try… the Ginger Martini," Catherine proclaimed, absent mindedly pointing a finger at herself, which then turned, directing its attention to me. "And a Heineken?"

I nodded in confirmation, taken aback by her knowledge of such a small detail. She gave me a little wink, as if to say, "Yep, I know all about you." I tried to keep my grin to myself, diverting my attention to the menu.

"Cat, that beer was four dollars!" I gasped when I saw the price list. "We could have gotten a whole six-pack for less than two of these."

"Would you stop fussing?" she beckoned from behind her menu. "I told you, it's my treat tonight. I'll worry about the tab. Shut up and enjoy yourself."

"Aren't we demanding," I muttered playfully.

"Yes," she laughed out loud. "I order you to have fun."

"Careful," I carried on. "I still have authority issues."

"Ah, that's the Sara I know and love," she cracked, once again managing to take the conversation that one extra step that made me feel like I'd just stuck my face in a furnace. "Good to know some things never change."

We each set about selecting out meals. Secretly ignoring my mandate to have fun, I tried to seek out the cheapest thing on the menu, which turned out to be a $15 burger. I wondered how delicious it really was to be worth its price — though I wasn't ever going to find out, since I couldn't bring myself to eat the once-living being, even for Catherine. I ended up ordering Pad Thai, opting for the tofu substitute they luckily offered in place of their various meats. Catherine chose a dish called Nutty Chicken, which I thought sounded more like a cliché wedding dance than a meal.

We fell into comfortable chatter while we waited for our food. I asked about Lindsey, and Catherine told me she was doing well; applying to colleges, staying out of trouble. She said she was amazed at what a responsible young woman her daughter had turned out to be, which I told her I didn't find particularly surprising because she had a great mother.

Our food arrived and we continued to babble, Catherine filling me in on some of her more interesting cases. Something about a tree growing around a hammer that turned out to be the murder weapon, another about being bitten by a woman with rabies. The latter gave me chills, to think something could have happened to her while I was gone, if this Ray guy hadn't figured it out in time.

About halfway through our meals I decided I had to ask. "So, are you ready to tell me why you're here? Or do I have to wait for you to actually lick your plate clean?"

"Very funny," she scoffed behind her napkin. "I'm ready."

"Shoot," I encouraged her, speaking around the food I had just shoveled into my mouth.

"I told you things have been different. Well, they're more like… dysfunctional. Our team was unbeatable, back in the day. Even when Ecklie tried to break us up— well, you remember." She sighed. "It's not that I don't have great guys on my team, but we just don't have that unity we used to. We're just like… we're like passing ships, and I'm killing myself trying to keep everyone afloat."

"Catherine, you're a good supervisor," I tried to comfort her. "You've been doing it since long before Grissom left, everyone knows that. Maybe they just need a little time to adjust."

"They don't need time." She shook her head. "I need help. We're understaffed, overworked, fragmented as a group… I need help, but I don't want a rookie and I don't want a transfer."

I was starting to see where this was going, and I wasn't sure I could help. "Where exactly do I fit into all this?" I asked, buying myself a few precious seconds to think.

"Oh come on Sara," she huffed, throwing her head back a little in exasperation. "You know what I'm asking."

I took a breath. "You want me to come back to Vegas?"

Her tone was a mix between firm and pleading. "I need you too."

Of course I wanted to help her. There was a part of me that had never left Vegas and yearned to go back. I just wasn't sure I was ready to yet. "Cath, I don't know if I can."

Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly at my words and I immediately felt guilty. "Everyone looks up to you, Sara."

"Me?" I asked, thoroughly astounded not only at the idea, but that Catherine was the one proposing it as well.

She nodded, as though it were common knowledge. "Of course. You're passionate. You set an example for everybody. When you're not being insubordinate that is," she tried to joke, and I gave up a smile in return. "I think having you back— I don't know, I think it would help us feel more like a family again."

I really was flattered that she specifically wanted me on her team. No one else, regardless of their experience. Just me. My new-found feelings made it all the harder for me to dismiss the offer outright. As she silently pleaded with me from across the table, my brain began to tell me that maybe I could do it, for Catherine.

"Give me a little time to think about it?" I finally caved a bit.

She straightened up, recomposing herself. "Of course. I figured you'd need time actually, so took a few days off."

I was at least a little relieved, both for the time and the sudden knowledge that she would be sticking around for at least a short while. "When do you have to go back?"

"They'll call if they need me," she somewhat dismissed it. "I didn't mean to pressure you Sara."

"I know, Cat. I'll think about it, I promise."

The waitress reappeared and Catherine ordered us another round of drinks, this time without objection from me. Would going back to Vegas be a step forward, or a big step back? Maybe it was neither; maybe it was as simple as deciding to take a step to the left or the right. Door number one or door number two. Either way, I had a lot to think about.


	5. Chapter 5

As it did every morning, the blinding sun exploded into my room to deliver its wake up call. I groaned, thinking today I should finally go out and buy some curtains — as I told myself every morning. What was different from every other morning, though, was the sensation of a warm entity pressed up against me. After a mild scuffle with the Sandman, I managed to stir myself out of the haze enough to remember that Catherine was in my bed.

When at last I peeled my eyelids open, I discovered that she wasn't just laying close by. Rather, she was firmly molded into my side, one arm fit snuggly over my stomach, her head resting delicately on my shoulder. Any chance of escape was futile with the way my arm was pinned beneath her body, though I couldn't imagine there was anywhere else I'd prefer to be.

I was a little apprehensive about how she would feel, waking to find herself in this situation. At least it was pretty obvious by our positions that it was she who put herself there, not me. For now, I just wanted to enjoy the feeling of having her so close; trying to memorize the sensation of each and every place her skin touched mine.

My eyes coasted up the arm across my belly all the way to her shoulder, her skin like whipped cream with light sprinkles of powdered cinnamon on top. I fought back the want to let my fingers travel the same delicious path, to let them sink into her hair while I kissed her forehead. That would undoubtedly land me in a heap of trouble — assuming I wasn't there already.

The rest of the previous night had gone well. She didn't push the topic of me returning to Vegas any further; we just talked, enjoying one another's company. Something we'd done far too infrequently in the past. We also continued to drink. I didn't drink myself stupid, for fear of what might come out of my mouth if left to its own devices. Just enough, though, for my face to remain at room temperature when Catherine's comments would normally ignite a fire beneath my skin. She may have been about one step beyond that, holding my hand on the way home for balance more than for the physical contact.

All too soon, she began to stir, sighing softly as she came to, like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White being gently aroused from her slumber. Quite the contrast to the groaning and moaning that ensued upon my own awakening. Beauty and the Beast. I tried not to laugh at my internal joke as she gathered her bearings.

She peered up at me curiously, not quite yet grasping the fact that she was laying on top of me. Slowly, she, too, won her battle with sleep, propping herself up on her arms once it hit her.

"Oh, jeez… Sorry, Sara," she mumbled groggily, sounding purely apologetic and not the least bit uncomfortable. "Guess I should've warned you about my snuggling tendencies."

Her hands remained planted on either side of me, even after she finished speaking. "It's not a big deal," I assured her, doing my best to bluff indifference. She smiled down at me, and I could think of no better way I had ever woken up.

As much as I wanted her to stay there, or lay her head back on my shoulder, I knew she wouldn't for long and after a moment she rolled over onto her back. "It feels weird, waking up to the sun light," she chuckled.

"Yeah." I turned my head towards her, enjoying the fact that the size of my bed prevented her from moving too far away. "It takes some getting used to."

"Tell me you've got some coffee in here," she grumbled, her eyes closing again.

I told her to stay put while I went to make a pot. Reluctantly, I willed myself out of the bed, throwing a sweatshirt on over the tank top and boxers I was wearing. I turned just in time to see her roll over to the spot I'd only just vacated, squishing her face into my pillow.

"What are you doing?" I asked with obvious amusement.

"Nothing," she murmured half consciously into the pillow. "You smell good."

My mouth opened and closed, having no idea whether the comment was meant to be innocuous or not, and getting no clues from Catherine as she appeared to be slipping back out of consciousness. "Thanks," I finally muttered as I made my way out of the room.

I put on a pot of coffee, taking the opportunity to slip out for a smoke while Catherine was still passed out. I looked out over the streets of rapidly disintegrating snow, but all I could see was an image of Catherine curled up with my pillow.

I smell good? I couldn't imagine what about my scent she apparently found so intoxicating. It wasn't like I used fancy soaps or wore perfume. An excited feeling in my gut tried to tell me that maybe it meant something, while my head firmly informed me that I was reading way too far into things.

When I'd finished, I went back inside and fixed us each a cup of coffee, bringing both back into my room. Catherine was lying exactly as I'd left her. I set my mug on the floor next to my lamp, taking a little risk as I pushed her hair back off her face.

"Cat," I called gently, receiving only a grunt in reply. I waved the cup under her nose. "I have coffee."

For that she managed to open her eyes and sit up, at least part way. "You're a saint," she informed me as I handed her the mug.

"Cat?" I called after a few sips in silence. I knew I was about to embarrass myself, but curiosity had won out. "What do I smell like?"

She gave me a confused look from the corner of her eye. "What?"

"You said I smell good," I reminded her. "I'm just curious what it is I smell like."

"Oh. I don't know really. You just smell like… you, I guess." She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world to bask in my scent. I filled my mouth with another sip in the absence of a coherent reply, while Catherine nonchalantly returned her attention to her cup as well.

As usual, I could only handle the silence for so long. "How's the coffee?"

"It's good," she replied simply, with a little nod.

"I couldn't remember how you take it," I kept on. "I put cream and sugar, but I couldn't remember how much. You're sure it tastes alright?"

She gave me an amused grin. "Yes, Sara. It's good. Really." Her tone made it clear that I had once again fallen into the over-talking. "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

"Nothing really. Whatever you want," I told her, thankful for the change of topic. "Except for— Shit, what time is it?"

"It's… wow, almost noon," she said. "You have somewhere to be?"

"Yeah. Therapy. I have to leave by twelve-thirty," I replied. "I mean, I could skip it if you want."

She dismissed the option with a wave of her hand. "No, no. Don't skip for me. You should go."

I knew I should. I really needed to go in fact; I had quite a lot to get off my chest since last week. On the other hand, I wasn't too keen on giving up any of the precious little time I had with Catherine. "I don't want to leave you by yourself," I half-lied.

"I'll be alright," she pressed. "I think I can amuse myself for an hour or so. And I promise I won't disturb any of your… piles." She smirked, gesturing towards the living room.

"Don't mock my piles," I chuckled. "They're a work in progress."

"I can see that," she retorted sarcastically. "Now, get your ass dressed, and get out of here."

"Okay, okay," I rolled myself up off the floor. Sifting around for something to wear, I tried to pick something I knew I looked good in, without taking so long that she could tell I was being choosey. I couldn't get away with wearing the tantalizingly snug style of pants Catherine wore, though I chose one of my slightly more fitted pairs, along with a fitted T-shirt that was cut just a little lower than most of my others.

I showered quickly, leaving myself just enough time to blow dry my hair and throw on a light touch of makeup, choosing to forgo any blush as I did plenty of that on my own. I didn't know exactly what I expected to accomplish by dressing up, but I just couldn't seem to resist the urge.

"Well, don't you clean up nice," Catherine remarked from her spot on the futon when I made my way into the living room.

"Please," I scoffed. "You look better when you roll out of bed than I do dressed up. Help yourself to my clothes by the way," I pointed to the oversized sweatshirt she was wearing.

"Thanks, I will." She laughed, pulling the garment tighter around her body. I couldn't help thinking she looked much better in my clothes than I did, her silky legs still on display courtesy of her tiny shorts that were all but swallowed up by the sweatshirt.

With considerable effort, I managed to tear my eyes away. "I have to go. There are blankets in the closet, if your legs get cold. Help yourself to whatever in the kitchen. But remember, don't touch my piles." I finished with a cheeky grin as I slipped into my coat.

"I won't," she chuckled again. "Scouts honor."

I forced myself towards the door. "I'll be back soon."

As I drove towards St Paul, I realized that even now that I was alone, I still felt different. I was excited for the day, for not knowing what would happen when I got home, for knowing that I was going home to someone. I hadn't been excited about anything in a long time. Though, at the same time, knowing that all of the reasons for my excitement pointed back to Catherine made me a little nervous. It couldn't last; she couldn't stay forever. Sometime in the very near future, I would wake up and she wouldn't be there anymore.

Some sort of highway-hypnosis took over, and I found myself pulling up in front of Carroll's, my head spinning with thoughts of Catherine. It probably was a good thing I'd decided to come here today. The thoughts were starting to make me dizzy, throwing everything inside me off balance. I hoped maybe talking to Carroll about it could make the world stop whirling around, at least for a while.

I waited, pacing the floor the vestibule, suddenly too nervous to sit down. The silence had taken its toll on my brain, yet again. Thankfully, I didn't have to wait long before Carroll appeared to greet me.

"Come on in, Sara," she gently invited. I hastily made my way into the room, depositing my belongings on the couch, though I chose to remain standing. "My, you look nice today. Special occasion?"

I ignored her question, in no mood for idle chitchat. "I want to talk about Catherine," I demanded.

"Great, that's great, Sara," she praised me, sitting down by her table. "Have a seat. You've been thinking about what we talked about last week?"

"No. Well, kind of," I sputtered, still standing. "Catherine's here."

She looked at me strangely for a moment, seeming to think I'd actually gone off the deep end. "Here?"

"Not here," I clarified. "In Minnesota. At my apartment. She came to find me."

"Alright, I can see you're upset, Sara." The constant repetition of my name was starting to irritate me. "Why don't you slow down for me and start at the beginning?"

I took a deep breath, though I still felt frantic. "Okay. First of all, I lied last week. I had been thinking about Catherine. And the reason I was thinking about her, is because I always am… Even when I'm not thinking about her, I'm thinking about her. Then you have to go and tell me I have feelings for her, and suddenly there they are, taking up every corner of my brain. The next day she calls me, out of nowhere." I paused for a breath, still wearing the floorboards down with my pacing.

"What did you talk about?" Carroll asked.

"Nothing," I confess. "I couldn't answer the phone. I was too scared. She called me every day for four days. Then on the fifth day, there she was outside my apartment."

"How did you feel about that?"

"Happy, overwhelmed, scared," I spewed out adjectives. "All of the above?"

"Mixed emotions are perfectly normal, Sara," she assured me.

I barely heard her. "I thought she was going to kiss me last night. I think she wanted me to think it too. I know: How did that make me feel? I felt excited. And as soon as I realized that I was excited, it made me feel fucking terrified."

Carroll appeared concerned at my erratic behavior, but her voice was calm as ever. "What about it terrifies you?"

I finally sat down, feeling somewhat exhausted by my tirade. "That I don't know how to make these feelings go away… and that a part of me doesn't even really want them to. But I don't stand a chance of being anymore than friends with her. She wants me to come back to Vegas, to rejoin the team, and… I want to. I want to so badly, but I don't know if I can."

"What's stopping you?" she implored.

I shook my head. "I don't know. I don't feel ready. Now, on top of it, I don't know if I can be around her everyday and be her 'friend.' But, I know that when she leaves, I won't be able to stand being without her."

She stopped and considered me carefully for a moment. "Catherine's who you were afraid of losing when you left Vegas?"

I nodded. "I think so. I didn't know it back then, but I think it was always her." I paused, the truth of my own words sinking in for the first time. "What do I do?"

Carroll sighed. "I can't give you a solution, Sara. You have some tough choices. Only you can know whether you can handle going back or not. Once you decide that, you have to decide whether you can live with these feelings, or take the chance and tell her how you feel."

I shook my head. "I can't."

"I know none of them are perfect fixes, or easy choices to make. You're the only one who will know what you can handle and when."

I looked at the clock. "Time's up?"

"I'm afraid so," she confirmed. I gathered my things, severely disappointed in the lack of progress. As I was about to leave, Carroll stopped me at the door.

"It will be okay, Sara," she promised. "This is the hardest part. But it will get better in time, one way or another."

I nodded my thanks, and set off towards my car. I had only wanted to get everything off my chest. Instead, it felt like the words had come flying out of my mouth, only to land heavily upon my shoulders. Carroll was right though; I had to make the choice. Things weren't going to just resolve themselves the way I realized I'd been hoping they would.

When I finally stepped into my apartment, the worry all but evaporated at the sight of Catherine. An army of brown paper bags, from which I realized she was retrieving and putting away food, surrounded her.

"You went grocery shopping?" I asked.

She jumped a little. "Jesus, Sara, I didn't hear you come in."

"You have to stop spending money on me," I told her.

"You have to stop worrying about my bank account," she replied, her back to me as she stocked the cupboards. She turned around, smiling at me warmly and continuing to pull items from the bags. I wished things could always be just like this — coming home to Catherine putting away groceries; a mundane act made magnificent because it was with the person I cared about most.

"I bought a movie," she piped up again, lifting it from one of the bags. "Want to watch?"

"Sure," I agreed, not even bothering to look at the title.

"I'm almost done in here," she told me. "You go put it on and I'll meet you there."

I did as I was requested. I wanted nothing more than to make this last forever. In the knowledge that it couldn't though, I knew that what I really needed to figure out was a way to accept the reality of my relationship with Catherine, to coexist as simply friends — or a way to live without her.


	6. Chapter 6

The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return.

If that's so, then by deduction the worst thing should be the opposite: To never love, and be loved by no one. Though I have to believe that anyone in my position would agree, that the worst thing is in fact love unreciprocated by the one you give it away to, like a carefully considered Christmas present that you find regifted back to you the following year because they never wanted it in the first place.

To never feel love would be to avoid the pain of love; and love is certainly pain. Yet, we long for it, search for it, and, when it finds us, we hold on like raging masochists no matter how much it hurts.

Love. It's a term thrown around far too loosely, though when we mean it, it means everything. When it's sincere, it suddenly carries a new weight — a responsibility, even — to the person we say it to. You can't just say the word; you have to feel it, live it, breath it, show it in everything you do. So, as much as my head wanted to tell me I was in love with Catherine, I was reluctant to allow myself use of the word, even internally. Sure, I felt the hurt, the longing, the fear of losing her. There was no question of my feelings for her, or of the fact that I knew I was falling harder every day. Love burns though. It leaves scars on your heart and you are never, ever the same. So, I needed to be sure — and it was just too soon to be sure. I knew I would touch the flame eventually; I needed to know how bad it was going to sting.

I had fled Vegas; I left Catherine behind. Not that it had been my intention at the time, but I had, without even so much as a goodbye. They say if you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it was always yours. If it doesn't, then it never was.

Now, here she was, having bridged the thirteen hundred-mile gap I'd placed between us, sleeping in my bed and putting groceries away in my kitchen, while I sat obediently on the futon waiting for her to join me. Maybe some part of her did belong to me after all, though I sincerely doubted it was the piece I craved.

The scent of hot butter hit me. A minute later Catherine emerged from behind the kitchen wall, two beers balanced carefully in her left hand, a large bowl cradled in her right.

"You even got popcorn?" I asked, finding her attention to detail extremely endearing.

"I went back and got it after I found the movie," she explained, placing the bowl on the couch while she drew the blinds shut. "It's a scary one. I can't watch scary movies without popcorn."

I turned to grab the remote, cool air hitting my legs as I felt my blanket being lifted off them. Catherine plopped herself down next to me, covering herself with the stolen half of my blanket. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked after she was already settled.

"Of course not." I smiled, pretending to adjust my seat in order to move just a few millimeters closer, wishing I'd grabbed a smaller blanket from the closet.

It turned out a smaller blanket wasn't necessary. "Good." She scooted much closer. "I get scared at horror movies. You may have to protect me."

I laughed out loud at her request. "Catherine, you've fought off attackers at crime scenes, you've been kidnapped, drugged, even bitten by a woman with rabies! After surviving all that, you're telling me you still need me to protect you from…" I grabbed the case to find out what we were watching, "…The Amityville Horror?"

She swatted my arm but laughed as well. "Shut up, I can't help it! Being haunted isn't on my list of real-life close calls, okay?"

I rubbed the spot she'd hit me. "Smack me again and I'll letthe ghosts have you," I warned. "Don't you watch these kind of movies with Lindsey all the time?"

"Yeah, she loves them. Why?"

"Who 'protects' you then?" I made exaggerated air quotes with my fingers.

"Lindsey…" she confessed almost sheepishly.

I tried to contain my laughter, but it came roaring out anyway. "Wow, Cat. Just… wow."

"Play the damn movie," she grumbled, giving me a weak attempt of a glare.

Not five minutes into the film, Catherine was already squealing and squirming over some horrifying creature of the dead popping up in a bathroom mirror. She pulled her legs up onto the futon, presumably in fear of what may lurk beneath the furniture, her knees coming to rest over my thighs. One hand clamped tightly onto my arm, the other over her lips, her head dipping into the crook of my neck any time she thought something frightening may potentially reveal itself on screen. The unflappable Catherine Willows, reduced to a frightened little girl by no more than a DVD.

I tried my hardest to contain my laughter, afraid that too much teasing would make her decide my protection services where of less priority than her pride. I liked being her protector, even if only from imaginary goblins. Each new moment of fright brought her closer to me, even when it seemed she couldn't possibly get any more near without our bodies joining into one. The idea conjured up imagery of skin on skin, of wandering hands and restless lips. Entertaining fantasies of Catherine was not something I had ever allowed myself to indulge in. I was helpless to extinguish the flames that ignited deep in my gut, doing my best to contain the fire before it became all consuming.

By the end of the film she was about one scary scene away from actually sitting in my lap, and I thought I should definitely stock up on horror movies. Once the credits started to roll I felt the tension leave her body, though she didn't move away. I knew that calling attention to her position would probably compel her to relocate, but with how much I was enjoying it, I couldn't stop my mouth seizing the opportunity to gloat. "I'm starting to feel like I should be carrying you around in one of those baby slings," I teased. "Since you're always curled up on my chest anyway." She swatted me again.

"That's it," I called, dislodging myself from beneath her as I flicked the television off, killing the only source of light in the room. "Ghosts, come get her!" I scurried out of her reach as she yelped, the room almost completely black as the sun had begun to set; our eyes trying to adjust to the darkness.

"Sara, that's not funny!" I heard her yell while I made my way to the light switch. More familiar with the surroundings, I found it with no problem, laughing while I listened to Catherine shuffle around in the darkness. After some searching she collided into me blindly, grabbing my shirt in fistfuls so I couldn't run off again.

I flipped on the light, laughing uproariously not only at Catherine's expense, but at the two of us, running around in the dark like little girls playing Marco-Polo.

"Not funny," she repeated, delivering another weak blow to my arm.

"You just don't learn, do you?" I plunged us into blackness again, making Catherine jump. Her body collided with the wall, my own in turn colliding with hers as she kept a hold on my shirt.

I decided I'd teased her enough, that it was time to let the little girl in her rest so the true Catherine might reemerge. I turned on the light, my hand falling away from the switch to let her know she was safe now. We were standing face-to-face, torsos pressed together, and while I couldn't convince myself to step away, Catherine didn't make any attempt to either. Her breath was ragged, I assumed as a result of her fright. I couldn't quite find a way to justify the look on her face though, a look that I could only describe as inviting; inviting me to stay put, maybe even to come closer. My ears began to buzz, as if by our proximity alone we had created some electric current that was now vibrating between the two of us. Had I any courage at all, it would have been the perfect moment to kiss her.

I carefully took a step back. The buzzing dissipated, and my brain rejoined my body. Clearly my eyes had been playing tricks on me again. I had to stop letting myself see what I wanted to see when it just wasn't there.

"I could go for another beer," I choked out after a moment.

"We should eat first," she told me, seeming to understand that another beer would undoubtedly become several. "Let me make some dinner."

I shook my head. "I'll make dinner. You've done more than enough already."

She nodded, and it wasn't until she released her hold on my shirt that I realized she'd still had it in her grasp. I refrained from giving it too much thought, trying to focus all of my attention on the new task of making dinner to distract myself.

She followed me to the kitchen side of the room, taking a seat at the little dinning table so we were still within each other's sights. I didn't think one more beer while I cooked could hurt, and Catherine seemed to agree as we each cracked open another. Beer in one hand, I shuffled through my cabinets and refrigerator with the other. Between what Catherine had bought and what I'd had tucked away, I managed to find enough ingredients to throw something together.

"Sara?" she called as I put on a pot of water to boil. "Does it bother you when I get too close?" I couldn't quite place her tone, though it sounded somewhere between nervous and concerned.

"I was just giving you a hard time, Cat," I assured her.

"You would tell me if it bothered you though, right?" she pressed. I felt my cheeks begin to flush at her line of questioning.

"I would tell you," I promised, trying to hide behind a long swig of my beer in the absence of a discrete way to conceal my rosy face.

"By the way," she started again, her tone now one of mock seriousness, "if even one word of what just happened gets back to the boys…"

"What — you, screaming in the dark like a little girl?" I poked with a smirk, while my senses were assaulted by the garlic and onion I was chopping.

"Yes, _that_," she sneered. "One word, Sidle, and even the best CSI's in the world won't be able to find your body."

I laughed. "Well, I'd have to see them to tell them, anyway." I knew I'd killed the mood as soon as the words left my mouth, seeing the disappointment in her expression. I realized the statement implied I wouldn't be seeing them any time soon. "I am still thinking about it, Catherine," I said after a moment, putting my foot in my mouth while mentally kicking my own ass with the other. "That wasn't meant to be some cowardly way of saying 'no.' I didn't mean it like that."

She smiled, but it still looked a little forced. "Okay," she said, then stood. "Isn't there something I can do to help with dinner?"

I thought of telling her to relax and let me handle it, but I could tell she was hell-bent on assisting. "These still need to be chopped," I offered, indicating the parsley and basil on the counter. She set about her task immediately.

"What are we making anyway?" she asked, dicing the ingredients.

"Artichoke Pesto Pasta," I told her. "It's supposed to have tofu too, but we're going to have to do with out it." She looked pleased with the description. I set about frying the other ingredients while she continued to slice, chattering about nothing in particular as we cooked.

Some people dream about big weddings and vacations and a life of adventure. I'd always dreamed of something just like this: movie nights at home and cooking together while chatting over a beer. The little, normal moments together that my family had never experienced. As much as I was enjoying it for now, in the back of my mind I knew that this too was only a dream. One I was going to wake up from much sooner than I wanted to think about.

We finished up cooking about the same time we finished off our drinks. Catherine insisted on dishing up the food, so I made my way to the refrigerator to fetch another beer, offering her one as well.

"Oh! I bought wine for dinner actually," she exclaimed, then adding, "If you want it, that is."

"Popcorn, wine… you just thought of everything, didn't you?" I complimented her as I found the wine. She actually looked a little proud of herself as she brought the plates to the table, making it hard for me not to grin as I poured us each a glass.

"Sara this is delicious," she proclaimed after the first bite. "Who knew vegetarian could taste so good?"

"I did, actually," I said with a smirk as I handed her a glass and took my seat.

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. Seriously though, you keep cooking like this, and I may never leave."

Catherine was oblivious to the summersault my stomach took at her statement. If only it could be that simple. "Should I take that as a promise, or a threat?" I teased.

Her eyes took on a devilish quality and I could already tell she was about to turn my cheeks pink. "You can take it any way you like it," she said with a tone that clearly replaced the meaning of the word 'it' with something naughty. I didn't reply, instead grabbing my wine and pouring a gulp down my throat. I heard her chuckle as I set the glass back on the table.

"What's funny?" I asked flatly.

"Nothing's funny," she replied. "You're blushing; it's cute."

"I'm not blushing," I instinctively defended myself, feeling the burn deepen and expand to my neck and chest. Not only did I smell good, now I was also 'cute;' apparently pleasing to multiple senses. There were a couple more I wouldn't mind introducing her to, particularly taste and touch. The moment I thought it I felt my entire body ignite, worried she could read my every thought through my eyes. I knew it was ridiculous, but there was something about Catherine that always made me feel like she could see right through me.

I downed the rest of my wine as though my glass had been filled from a bottle of actual courage. I knew the act would show my discomfort, but I had to do something, and a little liquid courage seemed better than none at all. Catherine silently stood up, retrieving the wine bottle from where I'd left it on the counter, then sauntering back over to refill my glass.

"My goodness, Sara," she cooed softly, making my stomach flutter when I felt her hand on the back of my head. "Is it really so hard for you to take a compliment?" The hand trailed down my scalp and through my hair, sending a shiver down my spine before it disappeared.

I nodded. "Sometimes."

"In that case, I'll _try_ to stop," she smiled. "What do you say, we stay in tonight, and after dinner we go back to the living room and finish this off?" she asked, raising the wine bottle into the air. I smiled back up at her, amazed that she could be the one to send me into a blind panic, and the next second know exactly what to do to put me back at ease.

Catherine's phone began to vibrate the moment she sat down. "Ecklie," she groaned when she looked at the caller id.

"Just ignore it," I told her, not wanting my time with Catherine impeded by Ecklie. At the same time, I had an awful feeling about what a phone call from him could mean for the length of Catherine's stay in Minneapolis. She shook her head apologetically as she flipped the phone open.

"This is Catherine," she chanted her usual greeting into the receiver.

She probably wasn't aware that I could make out the muffled voice coming from the other end. "Catherine, we need you back here ASAP." My appetite died as my heart sunk.

"I am on vacation, Conrad," she reminded him sharply.

"I'm aware of that," he sneered. "On another Sidle-hunt." Her eyes snapped to me, and I could tell she was wondering if I'd heard, though I made no indication that I had. How many times had she tried to find me?

Catherine turned her head so the phone was on the opposite side from me. "I just need a couple more days," she nearly pleaded.

"I don't have a couple days to spare," Ecklie didn't let up. "I'm sorry, Catherine, but we're tapped out, and if you're going to refuse any additions to your team, you are going to have to pick up the slack. I'm not trying to be the bad guy here, that's just the way it is."

She sighed heavily. "I'll be there tomorrow night," she conceded, not waiting for his reply before she hung up the phone. She looked at me across the table, her sad expression no match for the deep sense of loss I already felt twisting in my gut.

"You're leaving," I choked, surprised that I was already fighting off tears.

"Not because I want to, Sara," she replied. "Please believe that. I would stay if I could." I only nodded. If love burns, then I had just been scalded. There was no way I could keep pretending this was the life I wanted to lead once she'd gone.

"Look, we still have tonight, right?" she implored. "So, let's make the best of it."


	7. Chapter 7

From the moment she'd arrived I'd known this moment was inevitable. I had dreaded it, and yet, somehow, I didn't think it would come. My wish that she could stay had been stronger than my logic. Now, the ugly truth stared me straight in the eye: She was leaving tomorrow. Had she really only just arrived yesterday? I didn't understand how everything could have changed so quickly. It felt as though in just two short days, she had turned my entire world upside-down. Though, I was beginning to wonder if perhaps I had been living upside-down all along; maybe this was what things looked like right-side up. Maybe I was just too disoriented from so long standing on my head to realize I was finally on my feet.

We gravitated back to the futon after eating, the alcohol slowly beginning to dull the ache in the pit of my stomach, though it would take much more than a shared bottle of wine to kill it completely. Catherine was right, I should make the best of the time we had left. It was hard though, when every happy moment only circled back to the knowledge that it was ending.

"Where does the time go?" Catherine sighed from her place on the futon.

I gazed up at her from where I lay stretched out on the floor, now wondering the very same thing. "I don't know," I replied. "It seems like you just got here, and now you have to leave."

"That's true," she nodded, "but I mean in the larger sense. Sara, do you realize we've known each other for almost ten years now?"

"That long?" I asked, the number taking me by surprise. I'd never really thought about it. My life in Vegas was the only one that ever seemed to matter. Everything that came before it was just the past. I'd never stopped to put a number on it before.

Catherine seemed pensive. I could tell she had something to say, but she was hesitant. "I just wonder," she finally began, "in all that time, I wonder why we never did this before."

"Did what?" I asked, not entirely sure what she meant. "Ran off to another city to drink wine in a crappy apartment?"

"Well, kind of." She smiled, almost shyly. "Minus the foreign city. We never really 'hung out.' I just wonder why we weren't better friends." She ran her finger around the rim of her glass, watching it go round as she spoke.

I wasn't drunk by any means, but the wine was making me just a little too bold. I was tempted to tell her that maybe it was my fault, because of the feelings I had been unaware I harbored for her. I caught myself though, opting for a more neutral answer. "Maybe we were both just too stubborn to try harder."

Catherine glanced up at me briefly before her attention returned to the finger dancing around her glass. Something didn't seem right; she always looked me dead in the eye when she spoke, especially when it was serious. Whether proclaiming her seniority or scolding me for the way I did my job, she never faltered. They weren't my fondest memories, but that confidence was nowhere to be seen.

"I suppose you're right," she replied. "I think I did want you to try harder. Not consciously, of course. In hindsight though — I guess I was waiting for you to make the first move. It never occurred to me you might be doing the same."

"Make the first move?" I asked, poking fun at her phrasing in an attempt to lighten the mood. "What'd you want me to do, ask you out on a date?"

"What? No… no, of course not," she said dramatically, but her cheeks were pink, and the chuckle that followed sounded forced. "I mean, there are countless reasons that just wouldn't make sense, right?"

"Right," I replied, frowning a little in confusion. Not that I had actually been asking, but I had heard Catherine turn down dates before. She never got flustered like that, and she most certainly never blushed. "Catherine, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," I explained, suddenly feeling very awkward about my comment. "You know I was joking, right? I know you wouldn't have wanted that."

She finally looked up, giving me a small smile before simply stating, "You didn't make me uncomfortable."

I watched her skeptically for a moment. Something in her mood had shifted in the past few minutes, but I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong. "Hey, Cat," I called gently, sitting up to place a comforting hand on her knee. "Are you okay?"

She smiled again, but looked at me sadly, and I knew the next words out of her mouth would be a lie. "I'm fine," she said. "Just tired, I guess."

"We can go to bed if you want," I offered, knowing there was no point in pushing her to open up. If there was one thing we had in common, it was our stubbornness.

"Sure," she nodded. I told her I'd meet her there, and she went to change while I put away the dishes and the unfinished wine. Catherine was already in my bed as I passed by on my way to the bathroom, lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. I wished so much that she would tell me what was bothering her, that I could take away whatever it was that was hurting her. I knew she wouldn't though, and — even if she did — I doubted I could solve the problem, so I continued on my way.

I caught my reflection after I'd changed, running my fingers through my hair, once again vainly trying to make myself more presentable. I scowled into the mirror, wondering why I kept bothering with such things. Catherine was never going to be mine, and the smoothness of my hair wasn't the problem.

I didn't even recognize the woman staring back at me. Sure, she looked the same as ever, but she was not the same woman as a couple months ago. She wasn't even the same woman that I'd seen less than 48 hours ago. I wondered who she would become after Catherine was gone.

Realizing I was contemplating my reflection in the third person, I decided I should probably hit the sack. Catherine was lying in exactly the same position as when I'd passed by, though she turned to look at me as I entered, a tiny smile appearing on her face. My stomach somersaulted when I saw her, as it had taken to doing ever since she first arrived. She really was the most beautiful person I had ever seen.

Not wanting to be caught gazing, I climbed into bed, turning off the light before I settled in all the way. I wanted to say something, anything to keep us from falling asleep, to prolong the moment she would leave. Given her current disposition, it was hard to think of anything relevant, so we laid in silence for several minutes.

"Sara?" she finally called, rolling over onto her side to face me. "I'm sorry I killed the mood."

I turned towards her as well, her face becoming clearer as my eyes adjusted to the dark. "No big deal, Cat," I assured her. "Things happen. I don't mind."

"I'm sorry about Ecklie, too," she continued.

"It's not your fault," I said as firmly as I could muster. "The team needs you."

She nodded, but didn't say anything. We lay like that for several long moments, the moonlight from outside lighting up her face quite clearly now, making her appear to glow in the otherwise black room.

I wanted so badly to tell her how I felt, despite its inevitably horrible outcome. "Catherine," I called in a hushed voice, deciding to express myself on a lesser scale. "I… I wish you didn't have to go."

"Me too," she whispered, surprising me when she grabbed my hand, moving a couple inches closer. "I wish you would come back."

"I know," I replied, deciding to take a small risk as I gently brushed her hair back from her face. "I'm trying."

I wasn't sure how it happened, but I suddenly realized we were much closer together than we had been at the start of this little chat. If I moved the slightest bit, our noses would touch. She licked her lips, which I realized I'd been staring at, having no idea how long I'd been doing so. I snapped my eyes back to Catherine's, knowing I was caught when she smiled at me, though it was the first genuine smile I'd seen since before our conversation in the living room. That smile, along with the look in her eyes, sent butterflies dancing through my stomach yet again. I didn't think it was possible that she actually wanted me to kiss her, but I wanted it to be true so badly that, for that moment, I chose to believe it.

I moved in closer, and, when she didn't pull back, I placed my lips lightly on hers. I kept it as chaste as I could, knowing I could have easily just made the biggest mistake of my life. Even so, I felt my entire body start to tingle at the contact. I expected her to be angry, or at the very least shocked. Instead I felt a gentle tug on my hand that was still held in hers, as she now leaned in towards me.

I was still having trouble believing this could be happening, but I wasn't about to let that get in the way of me taking what may be the only chance I would have to kiss the woman I was so desperately falling for. So I did it again, still tentative, but just a little firmer, lingering just a little bit longer. She let go of my hand and I felt a quick wave of panic, already formulating an apology in my mind as I began to pull back. To my surprise the hand came to rest on the back of my head, bringing me back in before I even had a chance to make a sound.

I may have started it, but there was no doubt that Catherine was now the lead. I was happy to let her take charge. At least this way I didn't have to worry whether or not I was playing by her rules. I couldn't stop a small whimper from escaping my throat when I felt her body push up against me, feeling as though every inch of my skin had suddenly burst into flames.

Things had escalated rather quickly, and my tiny sound of appreciation proved to only fuel the fire as she kissed me harder. I found myself engulfed by it, rational thought slowly melting away as my body began to move of its own accord. My hand that had landed in the little valley just above her hip now trailed up her side, eliciting a dissatisfied grunt from Catherine when it stopped just short of her breast, retracing its way down her silhouette. I allowed it to land on her backside, gripping tightly to pull her even closer.

It was then that I felt the sensation of something soft against my tongue; so fleeting I wasn't entirely sure I had felt it at all. Patiently waiting to see if it would return, her tongue slipped smoothly back between my lips, more commanding this time. At that moment it finally hit me: I was really kissing Catherine. Not just kissing, we were making out, in my bed, hands exploring every curve of each other's body. Her breath was coming out ragged and needy as she rolled to her back, pulling me with her. With the sudden shift my hand ended up between her thighs, slowly creeping its way upward.

Just before I reached the top, I paused, though Catherine had made no objection to my actions. I couldn't remember ever wanting something or someone so badly in my life, so I had to be sure. Fevered kisses and fooling around was one thing, but to take it all the way would be something else entirely.

I detached my lips from hers for the first extended period of time since we'd started. Catherine looked up at me, a hint of worry in her eyes. I tried to think of a delicate way to phrase my question, my fingers lightly massaging her inner thigh to quell her concern.

"Sara," she breathed, placing her hand firmly over mine between her legs. Her eyes remained locked to my own, drawing our hands up just a little higher as she silently nodded her consent to the question I had yet to ask.

At that moment I was lost. To know that she actually wanted this felt more amazing than I could have ever imagined. I pressed my palm between her legs and she groaned, rocking her hips against me as her hands finally found the bottom of my shirt, yanking it over my head. The rest of our clothes followed quickly, discarded to the floor or lost in the sea of blankets.

Propping myself up on my arms to look at her, I was amazed to discover that she was suddenly more beautiful than she had ever been before. Even with her tussled hair and kiss-stained lips, she was perfect. I wanted to tell her that she was breathtaking, that she was flawless, that she was the most incredible creature I had ever encountered. Words seemed to fail me though. I stared at her in awe, finally leaning down to kiss her again, in a way that I hoped would somehow express what I wanted her to know.

I slithered my hand back up her thigh, unable to stifle an excited gasp when I felt the extent of her arousal. The sounds she made when my fingers found their way inside her were so intoxicating it made me feel drunk. She echoed my actions and it was all I could do to keep from going over the edge right then. The steady rhythm we fell into didn't last long, rapidly evolving into something much more frenzied.

Despite my efforts I came first, feeling the physical and mental release as the tremors shot through my body. After a moment I found I was grateful to have been first, my attention completely undivided and focused only on Catherine as she too found her release. The sight, the sounds, the feeling of Catherine coming by my hand was a moment I knew I would never get out of my head.

I waited for her to come down before withdrawing my fingers. Now that it was over, reality was back, along with my nerves. I worried she would instantly regret what she'd done, or worse, that she would feel I'd taken advantage of her. All those thoughts were hushed for the time being when she finally managed a grin in between her heavy breaths. At least it she didn't regret it yet.

I was afraid to speak, certain that the sound would break whatever spell we were under, that my voice would somehow make her realize she'd made a terrible mistake. So, instead, I leaned down and kissed her forehead, pushing her sweat-dampened hair away from her face with my fingertips. She never said a word either, finding my lips for one last kiss before bringing me all the way back down to the mattress and snuggling into my side. I ran my fingers through her hair, relishing in any and every way I could touch her. Her breathing slowly began to even out, and I knew she'd fallen asleep, though I didn't stop, hoping maybe she still felt it on some unconscious level.

I was left to wonder where we now stood. Catherine wasn't the type to use someone she cared about for a meaningless fuck, even spontaneous as it may have been. We may not have always gotten along in the past, but I know even then she would never have intentionally hurt me.

Maybe tonight meant what I wanted it to mean. I thought back over the last two days. Catherine had come to find me. She'd been affectionate, caring, and there was more than one occasion that could have potentially been construed as flirting. Not to mention her strange behavior tonight, even before the spontaneous sex. Then again, the devils advocate in my head continued to ask why in the world she would want me.

I looked down at the sleeping woman next to me, pulling her even closer in the wish that she would never go. At least I had tonight, and this moment, and maybe, just maybe, there were more moments like this waiting for me, if I returned to Vegas. On that hope, I finally allowed myself to fall asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

When the sunlight finally roused me from my sleep, I was surprised, and somewhat worried, to find myself alone. The worry began to dissipate, realizing it appeared that I had been 'tucked in,' followed by what I assumed to be the sounds of someone cooking. I threw on some shorts and a sweatshirt before making my way to the kitchen, where I discovered Catherine, apparently less concerned about redressing, cooking breakfast in only her tank top and underwear.

She looked so cute dressed like that, the bottom of her perfect butt just barely peaking out the edge of her panties. All I wanted to do was slip in behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and whisper 'good morning' into her skin as I kissed her neck. Still, even with our previous night's activates, I was unsure whether we had officially crossed the friendship line or not. We had to talk first.

"Catherine?" I called, my nervousness apparent in my voice, even to me.

"Don't you dare apologize," she warned me, never turning away from her cooking, though her tone was light.

"I won't," I replied, taking a seat at the table. "Unless… unless you want me to."

Now, she turned her head to face me, making sure I caught the serious look in her eyes before smiling sweetly and replying, "I don't," then resuming her cooking.

Even as I released a sigh of relief that she didn't seem to be experiencing any regret, I knew that my perception of what had transpired could be vastly different from hers. "Do you think we should… talk?" I asked, cringing at how utterly pathetic the question sounded out loud.

"Sara," she sighed calmly, scooping the last of what I now saw to be pancakes onto a plate. I stared at the plate absently as she set it in the middle of the table, until a gentle finger under my chin beckoned me to look up at her. "Listen," she spoke softly. "Last night was… great. It was really great, actually, and that's how I want to remember it. Let's not spoil it, okay?"

My mind went all over the place. From the knowledge that she enjoyed it, to the fact that she wanted to remember the night at all. It made my heart race, pounding painfully against my ribs. At the same time I was still lost, and I still didn't know how she really felt. Certain I'd already embarrassed myself by bringing it up, I certainly didn't want to be the one to initiate the "what does this mean?" conversation.

Forcing the question back down, I gave a little nod of agreement; her hand moving to the back of my neck as she tenderly kissed my forehead. Then she was off, gathering plates and forks, as though kissing my face in the morning was something she'd always done.

"You didn't have to do all this." I gestured towards the meal, trying to act as nonchalant as Catherine seemed to feel.

She shrugged, but I didn't miss the pleased look on her face. "I wanted to. I thought it'd be nice to have breakfast together."

"It is," I agreed, and I meant it; though in the back of my mind I couldn't help seeing it as a last meal of sorts. "What, um… what time do you have to go?" I practically choked on the question.

I offered a smile in thanks as she dished up my food for me. "I was planning to call a cab in about an hour or so."

"Cab? No," I said a little to urgently, calming my tone before rephrasing. "I mean, I can give you a ride."

"Sure," she replied. "If you really want to, that'd be great."

I nodded. "I do." I would take every last second I could get before she was gone again, the miles that would once again be stacked between us feeling much farther than they had a couple days ago.

She fixed her own plate and sat down across from me. I moved my food around with my fork, trying to trick myself into thinking I had an appetite right now. Not wanting her thoughtfulness to go to waste, I managed to force a bite into my mouth.

"Sara," she began, her apology obvious in her voice.

"I know," I stopped her with a smile I hoped passed for convincing. "You'd stay if you could."

Catherine nodded. "And, you know, even if you don't come back," she paused, seemingly displeased at the notion, "I could always come visit again, if you want."

Somehow, in the midst of mourning her departure, it hadn't occurred to me that it would be possible for her to visit again. The fact that she was the one to propose it made me heart melt in my chest. "I'd like that," I told her, grinning like a complete fool. "A lot." My honesty in the last bit made me blush again, as did Catherine's full smile when she noticed, though she was kind enough not to vocalize it a second time.

"How do they taste?" Catherine nodded her chin in the direction of my plate.

"Oh," I declared, having all but forgotten there was food in front of me, eagerly shoving another forkful between my lips. "Delicious."

She chuckled at my actions. "I'm sure the guys will be jealous that I saw you," she said after a moment.

"I suppose," I said absently. As much as I loved the guys, I had to admit I hadn't really thought of them all that much during Catherine's stay.

"You suppose?" she questioned. "Sara, we all miss you. When you came back, after Warrick…" she chose not to complete the sentence. "Well, we were hoping you would stay."

I hadn't known that. I wondered, if they had expressed that wish to me, if I could have indeed been persuaded to rejoin the team. I doubted it, not back then, but no one ever said it. Wishes left unspoken lead to questions left unanswered; what could have been, what could be. The thought of telling Catherine how I really felt crossed my mind, but in the end fear still won out.

"Even you?" I asked instead. I knew she would say yes, but I wanted to hear it out loud.

"Especially me," she said sensually, making me bashful yet again. I'd never felt this with anyone; where every kind word that was spoken turned me into mush.

"Would you tell them 'hello' for me?" I cleared my throat, deliberately shifting gears. "I really do miss them."

"You could tell them yourself," she said suggestively, clearing implying my return to Vegas.

I sighed. "Cat…"

"I know, I know," she cut me off, raising her hands in resignation. "I'm sorry, I won't bring it up again. Just wanted to make sure it was still on the table."

"It's still on the table," I reiterated. She nodded, satisfied enough with that, for the time being. I wished I could just agree. All I had to do was say 'yes,' and I could be the solution to Catherine's troubles, her hero, if you will; but more than that, I could imagine the look of joy and relief that would be on her face, and knowing I was the one to put it there. One glance across the table, though, and all of my 'what-ifs' came rushing back: What if I couldn't handle being just friends or coworkers? What if I let my feelings for her interfere with work? What if seeing her everyday only made me fall for her more? I already felt like I'd lost my mind as it was. As appealing as being Catherine's hero would be, I was terrified of letting her down.

"I better go jump in the shower," she sighed as we scooped the last bits of syrup off our plates, "or else I'll feel really bad for whoever has to sit next to me on that plane."

I certainly wouldn't feel bad for them, not even if she'd just come back from rolling around in a garbage dump with a decomposing corpse. The thought of the scent alone was almost vomit inducing. Even so, I'd rather be near her.

"And here I thought pretty girls didn't sweat?" I smirked, disguising the fact that her subsequent laughter had me beaming.

"Well then," she started sarcastically, "I guess I must not be all that pretty."

"Don't be ridiculous." The words left my mouth before I could stop them. I peered up at her cautiously, surprised to see her look away humbly with a thoughtfulness in her eyes and a shy smile. She certainly never failed to keep me wondering what was going on behind those pensive eyes. I'd stopped trusting my own eyes since she'd arrived, too afraid they would lie to me and ultimately give me false hope. I wanted to believe them.

Catherine cleared her throat, smoothing her hair absent mindedly as she refocused. She stood up quickly, intently gathering up the dirtied plates before I insisted I could handle the clean up while she showered. She said she'd be done in twenty, letting her fingers touch my shoulder lightly as she passed by.

As I gathered the dishes from the table, my mind continued to replay every moment of the previous night in vivid detail. I couldn't let myself forget a single thing. I wanted to remember how it felt to be close to her, the baby softness of her skin, the electricity of her lips. My stomach flipped almost painfully each time I thought of the moment where she breathed my name, the look in her eyes the moment I knew she wanted it permanently scarred into my brain.

I proceeded on to the dishes from last night; my hands already covered in suds and doomed to smell like dishwater as it was. I realized it didn't bother me so much that she didn't want to talk about it, as it did why she didn't want to talk. I still couldn't shake the worry that maybe she regretted it, even though she claimed to have enjoyed herself. Maybe she just didn't want to have to tell me to my face that it could never happen again. Maybe she thought I might regret it, which couldn't be further from the truth. Maybe she was just worried I would over analyze things, as I often did, and was probably doing now.

I finished my chore, and Catherine emerged from the bathroom after almost exactly twenty minutes, as promised. How she managed to shower and come out looking like a queen in such a short period of time was beyond me.

I helped her pack up her things, both of us reverently silent as we did so. I didn't want to acknowledge what I knew, that this was the last step before she would be on her way. My chest tightened as I looked into her suitcase, noting that she had in fact pack for a considerably longer stay. Finally, with nothing left to detain us, we made our way to the car.

It was appropriately bleak outside, the sky an opaque blanket of gray. The now snow free ground revealed little green, as did trees with their naked arms reaching up to the milky heavens. I would have joined them in their silent prayer, had I ever believed in such a thing.

I loaded Catherine's suitcase into my trunk as she took a long look around her, seeming to bid a final farewell to the surroundings she'd had little chance to familiarize herself with.

"You okay, Cat?" I felt my brow crinkle with concern as I closed the trunk. Her traveling eyes found me and she managed a smile.

"I'm going to miss it here, believe it or not," she explained. "It's so different from Vegas. It's quiet. Peaceful." As if on queue, a group of wannabe gangsters walked by, hooting and whistling their 'hey baby's at Catherine as they passed. She rolled her eyes, smirking at the disgusted look on my face. "On second thought, maybe it's just the company I'll miss."

I got into the drivers seat, not really responding to her comment aside from an undoubtedly awkward smile. Despite everything that had happened, not to mention the fact that we hadn't really encountered anyone else, my mind refused to believe she could be referring to me.

Catherine hummed quietly along to the radio as we drove. Unlike me, she wasn't one to be caught singing to herself around the lab. There wasn't much singing to be done when the team went out for breakfast, and, if she ever sang at the bar, it must have been too loud to hear her above the roar of the crowd. I never knew she could sing. It made me sad to think there was so much I still didn't know about her.

"Catherine, you really have a beautiful singing voice," I told her timidly, not being able to resist the opportunity to compliment her.

"Oh, I didn't realize you could hear me. Thank you," she paused. "You do too, you know."

I scoffed. "Not really."

"Sara, just take the compliment," she huffed.

I glanced at her skeptically before turning my eyes back to the road. "Thanks," I mumbled.

I could sense her grinning at me, though she didn't say more. After several long moments, I could still feel her eyes fixed in my direction, as though her look alone carried a weight that had physically settled upon me. "What?" I asked, after another glance in her direction to confirm my suspicions.

She smiled as she finally turned away. "Nothing," she said into her lap. I really wished she wouldn't make my stomach somersault like that when I was trying to drive.

Much too soon for my liking, we were pulling into the Lindbergh Terminal drop off. I had planned on going in with her, but Catherine was insistent that I shouldn't pay for parking just to see her to the check in counter. Short of telling her I was head over heels, I didn't really have a solid argument against her logic, so in the end I folded.

Every movement felt like a chore as I helped her retrieve her luggage from the trunk. My feet stubbornly resisted moving me forward, while my arms felt like they'd given up all together. I told myself I couldn't cry in front of her.

"Sara, don't be sad," she pleaded, and I knew my eyes were betraying me as they revealed unshed tears. I starred at the ground as she took each of my hands in her own. "I'll call you," she said more firmly. "I know you won't call me, so I'll call you. All the time, I promise." I nodded, knowing my voice would come out shaky and weak. "Sara, look at me."

I did as I was told. I knew she was waiting for me to say something, and I knew I was running out of time to say it. I swallowed hard, but my voice cracked anyway. "I'll miss you."

Catherine wrapped her arms around my neck, and for once I allowed myself to stop thinking and melt into the embrace. She had to be the one to pull back, or else I might have stayed like that forever. She didn't go far, one hand resting on my shoulder, the other lightly above my heart. "Me too," she whispered, surprising me one last time as she boldly leaned up and placed a kiss on my lips. Not even enough to offend the most close-minded of passerby, though still enough to make my head spin. I starred at her in stunned silence, my mouth open to ask a question my brain had yet to form. "I'll call you," she said again before I could speak, averting her stare just a moment too late for me to miss the glistening in her eyes.

She grabbed her suitcase and began backing towards the sidewalk. "Bye, Sara," she said before finally turning around and finding the doors. I wasn't sure if I said it back or not, my mind still reeling. I watched her go, hoping all the while she might turn back around and tell me she'd stay. At last she disappeared out of my line of vision, and I knew she was gone.

I looked around me, and it was as though a veil had been lifted from my eyes. Everything looked different, in that it suddenly looked the same as it always had. Reality was back full force. In that moment I knew, this would never be home.


	9. Chapter 9

Without Catherine, my apartment felt like a ghost town; once so alive, so vibrant, until one day the entire population just up and left, leaving behind only shadows of their former lives. Previously forgotten sounds revealed themselves in the emptiness: the low hum of the refrigerator, the breeze against the window, my own footsteps sinking into the rug. It was as though Catherine had filled every corner with her presence, her voice, her movements. Without her, the air in the room didn't know what to do with itself, hanging heavily upon the silence.

I'd often wondered what I was more afraid of in life; being in love, or being alone. Now I knew love was definitely the more frightening of the two. One certainly doesn't seek out loneliness – not typically anyway – but being alone is easy. The lonely live on in the hope of love. If they never find it, what have they really lost? Of course the argument can be made that they have lost in some way, but nothing compares to being in love. Then you really have something to lose.

I could almost admit I was in love with Catherine at this point; there really wasn't any other way to describe it. If I were to admit that, though, I would also have to admit that I might have already lost her. I wondered if it counted, to lose something that may very well have been unattainable in the first place. It sure felt like losing.

I shoved my keys back into my coat pocket, discovering my forgotten pack of cigarettes. I had been so preoccupied with not missing a moment of Catherine that my nicotine addiction had completely failed to present itself. I thought perhaps I should just continue to refrain, since I'd already made it this long without. Instead, I marched to the balcony before ever bothering to remove my coat, telling myself that it would be easier to quit some other time, when my head wasn't such a mess.

I leaned my body heavily against the railing, reveling for a quick moment in the victory of actually getting a buzz from the cigarette. I looked down at the city below me, at the people bustling about, the cars pacing back and forth along the road. Had this view always been so bland? Compared to the bright lights of Vegas, it was monotone.

I smoked two more cigarettes before deciding that was quite enough, feeling my lungs burn as I avoided my vacant apartment. I went back inside, feeling the emptiness of the place cursing through my veins, making me restless. Unsure what to do with myself, I paced around aimlessly, finding little mementos of Catherine everywhere I went; the movie she'd bought us sitting on top of the DVD player, the towel she'd used just this morning hung neatly in the bathroom, the pillow on her side of the mattress still indented from where she laid her head. I cursed myself for thinking of it as 'her side,' simultaneously deciding I cold really use a drink. I opened the refrigerator, seeking my refuge from thoughts of Catherine, only to discover the half empty bottle of wine we'd shared the night before.

How could she be so far gone, and still be everywhere I turned? She could move to the moon, and still I would find traces of her in everything I saw. Thirteen hundred miles was nothing; I would never get away from her.

I slammed the refrigerator shut without having retrieved anything, heading straight for the front door. I might not be able to escape her, but maybe I could hide, just for a little while. I started walking, not entirely sure what my destination would be. My lungs scolded me furiously as I lit yet another cigarette, but I ignored them. It was getting warmer every day now, but the air was still cool, even more so now as the sun began to set. I breathed it in greedily between puffs of smoke, trying to imagine that enough of it could somehow push the thoughts out of my head.

As I came to the end of my cigarette, I found myself in front of the bar I had wondered into when I first moved here, a lifetime ago. It was just some little hole in the wall place, complete with bad karaoke and aging bartenders. Still, it was familiar, and the atmosphere was friendly enough. Not to mention I was still in need of the drink I had been seeking before I fled. After a final hard drag, I crunched the cigarette out under my boot and went inside.

Despite it being a Friday night, it wasn't overly crowded inside. Not surprising, seeing as it wasn't really a Minneapolis hot spot. The noise level was reasonable enough that you could still hear yourself think, and just loud enough that you didn't have to. Most of the people inside appeared less than concerned about impressing any of the other patrons, dressed causally in jeans and worn T-shirts, completely immersed in their beers and pull-tabs. I certainly wouldn't make any waves in a place like this. Catherine would have.

I shook my head, taking a seat at the bar with the other loners, though I could tell most of them were regulars as the bartenders called them by name. I ordered a beer, downing half of it before the woman who served me even turned around.

"Can I get ya another, honey?" she asked, her brows furrowing sympathetically over an excess of blue eye shadow. I nodded, slamming the rest of the bottle as she set a new one in front of me. "Take it easy on this one," she warned me. I glared at her, but she had already moved on to the next customer.

I drank a bit slower, though undoubtedly faster than my nosey server would have liked, and was onto my third in no time. Trying to tell myself that getting hammered wasn't going to be the solution to anything, I finally started sipping and a reasonable pace, half wishing for someone to strike up a conversation, and half hoping to just go unnoticed.

"Sara," a man's voice startled me from behind. Even the side of me seeking company wasn't hoping for this.

"Hey, Matt," I said as pleasantly as I could. Looking at him now, I was surprised to find that in many ways he seemed to be the male version of Catherine. On the other hand, it wasn't really all that shocking when I thought about it.

Piercing blue eyes looked at me skeptically. "Busy?" he asked sarcastically.

"Not really," I sighed, knowing lying was futile. The bartender came around again, and Matt pointed to my empty bottle, signifying we needed another.

"It's on me," he said, laying his cash on the bar. I gave a tight-lipped smile, not wanting to be rude, but wishing he'd just go away all the same. I should have known I might run into him here; after all, it was where we had first met. An awkward silence ensued before he spoke again. "You here with anyone?"

I sighed. "I told you, I can't be in a relationship right now."

Apparently I came across a lot more defeated than I'd intended, and I saw his expression soften, as he seemed to take pity on me. "Well, what about a friendship? I can be a pretty good friend."

I squinted at him suspiciously, but he actually seemed genuine. "Just friends, you swear," I stated seriously. He nodded his consent and took the seat next to me. "Fine," I resigned, taking a long swig of my fresh beer.

"So," he started, eyeing my growing collection of empty bottles. "Who are you trying to forget?"

I chuckled bitterly. "You don't want to know."

"Sure I do," he pushed. "Friends like to know things about each other."

I scowled at his teasing, but he just grinned. "A ghost," I finally replied.

"An ex," he said, as though he knew all along.

"Not exactly." I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to talk about this with him, even in the wake of our newfound 'friendship.' Despite the fact that we had very nearly dated, he could just as well be a stranger to me.

"Someone from Vegas?" he continued. I nodded. He was silent a moment, though I could tell he already had another question in mind. "Catherine?" he said hesitantly, making me choke on my beer.

He couldn't possibly have known. "How did you…" I shook my head, dumbfounded and speechless.

"Oh, come on, Sara." he laughed good-naturedly. "You talk about her like she walks on water."

"I don't talk about her that much," I replied defiantly, earning a look that clearly told me I would not win that battle. "Whatever. Shut up." I couldn't help a small smile as he chuckled again. It felt a little better, actually talking about it.

"Well," he started thoughtfully. "Is she into chicks?"

"Um…" I blushed involuntarily at my memories. Had he asked me that before Wednesday morning, I would have thought the answer was clear: Not a chance. However, straight women don't generally sleep with their female former coworkers and then kiss them goodbye at the airport. "I… I'm really not sure anymore."

"Anymore?" he asked. I thought Matt could give Brass a run for his money when it came to interrogational skills. Then again, Brass didn't have the benefit of his suspects being half in the bag.

"Catherine was here," I started explaining, trying to keep it vague. "Some things happened. It's just… confusing."

"She'd be lucky to have you, Sara," he told me, taking a sip of his own drink before adding, "Any girl would."

What caught me off guard was not that he specified 'girl,' but the fact that, for a moment, it didn't phase me at all. By now I'd drank enough that my verbal filter was officially turned off, and the words came tumbling out. "Matt, I think I might be gay."

He nodded calmly, as though I'd simply announced that spring was around the corner. "I think you might be."

"I mean, I've really only had one solid relationship with a man," I continued, lost in my revelation. "In theory, Grissom should have been perfect for me. I wanted him to be perfect for me. There was always something missing though. He just wasn't…" I shook my head, grasping for the words to explain.

"He wasn't Catherine?" Matt offered.

"He wasn't Catherine," I repeated with a heavy sigh. "I've never felt what I feel for her. I never knew it could hurt this much to want someone, or that I could want them so badly."

"Have you ever told her?" he asked.

"I can't tell her," I said dramatically. "She's Catherine. She's perfect. To me she's perfect. I just can't."

"That's why it hurts so much," he nodded thoughtfully. "Unrequited love is one thing, but never telling her how you feel? That'll eat you alive. You'll always wonder."

"She could reject me," I argued weakly. "She probably would."

"If that's the case, then she doesn't deserve you," Matt said seriously. "I'm sure she's a wonderful person, Sara. But if she doesn't want you, well, for one, she's nuts. And two, it means you can move on and find someone who does."

I scoffed, the idea of Catherine not deserving me sounding utterly ludicrous, while the act of moving on seemed the most impossible of feats. "She wants me to move back to Vegas, to come work at the lab again."

"Do you want to?" he asked, and I nodded. "Then why don't you?"

As I thought over my reasons, they all seemed to fall flat. "I don't know."

Matt was quiet a moment, carefully choosing his next words, or trying to remember them, staring off into the distance as he recited, "Why do you stay in prison, when the door is so wide open."

"Rumi." I said instinctively. Matt seemed surprised that I knew who he was quoting. "Grissom always liked to reference dead poets and philosophers to inspire us," I explained.

"Smart man," he chuckled. "The only one standing in your way is you, Sara."

Just then a small cluster of people appeared behind us, one of them emerging forth to inform Matt that it was time to go. He offered me a ride, but I assured him I could handle the walk home.

"Hey, Matt?" I called, as he was about to leave. "Thank you, for being a friend. Some girl will be lucky to have you too."

"If you need anything, you've got my number," he offered, and then he was gone. I knew I wouldn't call him, and I figured I would probably never see him again. Still, in the end I was glad I ran into him.

I paid my tab after finishing my beer, and made my way back out into the cool night air, lighting up once again. Pulling out my cell to check the time, I was dismayed to see the message light blinking, knowing even before I looked that I had missed a call from Catherine. "Shit," I muttered angrily, dialing into my voice mail as I walked, narrowly dodging the other pedestrians more than once, as I was both intoxicated and thoroughly distracted by Catherine's voice.

"Hey, it's me… I hope you're not avoiding my calls already," she joked, though a level of worry was apparent in her voice. "Just thought I'd let you know I made it home in one piece. I guess I'll… talk to you later, hopefully."

I thought about calling her back, but I figured she was already at the lab by now, and a drunken phone call would hardly be appropriate. As I fumbled my way into my apartment, I couldn't stop worrying that she might really think I was avoiding her. I decided on a text message, the buttons seeming to swirl around before me, though somehow I managed to spell out, _Glad you're safe. I miss you._ Even as I hit send, I knew it wasn't something I would say soberly, but right now I just didn't care.

I waited up a short while longer, hoping she might reply before I passed out. Finally determining that she was probably busy, and that I was much too tired, I found my way to my bed. Flopping down on the mattress, fully clothed, I tossed my pillow to the side, reaching for Catherine's. I pushed my face into the soft material, much the way she had the first day she woke up here, knowing that by morning her scent would most likely be gone, just like Catherine was.

I could swear I had only just shut my eyes when I opened them to find sunlight streaming into my room. The Catherine-scented pillow was now balled up tightly against my chest, making me long for the morning I had awoke with her in my arms. The previous night slowly unfolded in my mind, making me cringe as I recalled just how much I had revealed to Matt. Talking it out had probably been for the best, though, so I relaxed and let it go, mere seconds passing before I remembered the text I had sent Catherine. I shot up in bed, muttering profanities at the light pounding that presented itself between my ears. I tried to ignore it, determined to find my phone and do damage control as quickly as possible, only to find the device grasped tightly in my hand.

"Idiot," I mumbled at myself, horrified that I had actually text her something like 'I miss you," when she'd only been gone for hours. I flipped the phone open, finding a message already displayed on the screen: _I miss you too. _I stared at the screen for a moment, my bleary mind trying to catch up with the fact that the message really was from Catherine. How was I supposed to be angry with myself when she said something like that? Instead, I found myself grinning like a complete fool. "Idiot," I puffed again, finally hauling myself up in the pursuit of hydration.

Three glasses of water later I found myself leaning against the kitchen wall, staring into the living room. Boxes and piles of my junk still littered the floor, stuck in limbo, somewhere between staying and going. _Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?_ Matt was right; there was nothing keeping me here but me. I could just as easily finish unpacking and stay here, as I could throw everything back into boxes and leave. One thought of Catherine and I began a furious attack the piles. I had made up my mind.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: I know, I know! You thought I was dead, right! But I am still here! See! If anyone wants the boring list of excuses, well, message me I suppose, but I promise it's boring! _  
_I am too scared to promise, but I am very hopeful that the next update won't be terribly far off! The previous chapters are updated as well, though it's only word tweaks and spelling corrections, plot remains exactly the same, and that I do promise!_

_Oh, if you are a fan of this lil fic of mine, you might wanna go ahead and thank **clickclaire** for the very kind pm she sent me that kicked my motivation into gear and ended months worth of procrastination with just two short days of writing! :D (I would like to extend another 'thank you' to her myself!)  
**Myx Nyx**, I think you need a shout out too, just for puttin' up with my butt and being cool.  
And thank you to **everyone** who was still reading and reviewing despite the extended hiatus, I really always appreciate the kind and constrictive words! I NEVER thought I could possibly take this long to update, and I hope you little dearlings can forgive me! For that matter, I hope that you are all still around... Well, those that are still around, if you should happen to care to leave a wee little review for me, you know you'll be held in the most highest-est place in my heart! :D_

_Ok, ok I'm done! Enjoy! XoXo _

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As it turned out, making the decision was the easy part. It was the execution of said decision that was proving to be quite difficult. Not that I doubted myself; I knew this was what I wanted to do. It's what I needed to do. What I seemed to be lacking now was the courage to follow through, like working up the nerve to introduce yourself to that boy or girl at the bar. I just needed time.

It had been a week since Catherine left, though she'd kept her word, calling every other day like clockwork. Between calls she'd text, mostly innocuous comments like, _"The boys say hi," _or, _"This case is a disaster." _Impersonal as they may have seemed, the simple fact that she wanted to keep the lines of communication open made me light up inside. I'd even taken to carrying my phone around in my back pocket, waiting for the next communication like an addict itching for their next fix.

The days were getting longer now, the sun waking me up earlier each morning in my curtain-less room. It was just past 8am, and already I found myself perched on my balcony, coffee at my side, cigarette and open cell phone in hand. The backlight on the phone went out, yet again, as I tried to convince myself to make the call I'd been putting off for the last week. I turned it back on, staring at the ominous number on the screen. All I had to do was press the dial key, and the hardest part would be over.

I startled when the phone began to vibrate in my hand, feeling the now familiar pounding of my heart when I saw Catherine's number calling. I grinned around deep breaths, trying to calm the twisting in my gut. She usually called me in the evening, on her way to work. She'd never called me in the morning before, not to mention I'd only just talked to her the previous night. Realizing I was contemplating the circumstances of the call a little too long, I quickly answered before it could go to voicemail.

"Hey," I said coolly, trying to sound collected rather then elated.

"Hey," she echoed back. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

Like I wouldn't have gladly woken up for her. "No, I was up," I assured her. Wanting to be sure there wasn't an urgent reason for this out of place call, I asked, "Everything okay?"

"Technically speaking, yes," she sighed. "Long shift. I just wanted to call and… say 'hi'… again," she finished, sounding like someone who just realized they hadn't thoroughly thought out their plan before executing it. My heart clenched at her sheepishness, while I fought back the very uncharacteristic giggle I felt in the back of my throat.

"I'm always glad to hear from you, Catherine." I grimaced a little at the flirtatious implications of my tone, though I was still too giddy to give it much thought.

"Yeah? Alright then, good. That's good," she babbled slightly, sounding almost relieved. My relationship with Catherine was becoming more of a mystery every day. On the one hand, it was firmly engraved in my brain that she couldn't possibly ever be attracted to me. Then, she had to go and do something adorable, like babble nervously over calling to chat, making that little voice in my head whisper, _Maybe, just maybe…_

Now was obviously not the moment to be contemplating such things, realizing I'd spaced out as I asked Catherine to repeat herself.

"I just asked what's new with you," she supplied.

"Since last night?" I chuckled. "I've been asleep, Cath."

"Right, I forgot," she puffed. "Sorry."

As endearing as her nerves were, I was starting to get concerned the longer they went on. It was just a little too out of character. "Are you sure everything's alright?"

"Of course, why wouldn't it be?" she said innocently. I told her she seemed off, which she lamely chalked up to being tired. Before I could push it further, she started talking again. "Hey, Sara? I know I said I wouldn't push you, and I'm really not. I was just wondering… Have you given anymore thought to coming back?"

"Is that why you called?" I was slightly disappointed, much preferring the idea that she just really wanted to talk to me without an agenda.

"No! Of course not," she corrected quickly, lifting my spirits up again. "It just popped into my head — I shouldn't have even brought it up. I've just been wondering, and…"

"I've been thinking about it," I cut in to save her from more rambling.

"And?" she asked hopefully. I wanted to tell her, to put her out of her misery, but I just couldn't yet.

"And… I need more time," I replied cowardly.

Catherine gave a little snort. "I don't know how much more time Ecklie will let me wait on you, Sara," she informed me sharply, sounding like the Catherine I knew once again.

"I'm really sorry, Cat," I whispered. "I don't mean to make things harder on you, honestly."

"I know," the sharpness was gone from her voice. "And likewise. I just," she sighed, her voice dropping down to a whisper as well, "I really wish you were here."

I bit my lip, unsure how to respond to the desperation in her tone. Did she wish I was there with her, or just there to pick up the slack? It was obvious which I would have liked it to be, though really either scenario was feasible, and each warranted entirely an different reply.

Again, I debated too long.

"Look, I can let you go if you want," she said half-heartedly.

"No," I jumped, checking myself before trying again more calmly. "I mean — you don't have to."

"Good," her tone lightened again. "Although, I fear we may have nearly exhausted the list of conversation topics… That is, unless you had any good dreams last night you'd like to share?"

In the space of one phone call, she'd gone from nervous, to aggravated, to melancholy, now to settle on seductive. Why she insisted on using that voice on me I wasn't sure, though I suspected it had something to do with the universe wishing to torment me. It was on rare occasions such as this that I actually found myself being thankful for the miles and hours between us; at least over the phone, she couldn't see that my face was burning red. There were definitely a few dreams I could share. I most certainly wasn't planning on actually divulging any.

Instead of revealing my bashful side, I laughed. "Nothing in particular. Why, do you?" I turned the question back on her.

"Hmm," she pretended to think. "Maybe. But none that would be appropriate to disclose with my teenage daughter in the room." My jaw dropped, and I barely registered an amused, "Oh, don't give me that look," that was obviously not directed at me.

"Uh, tell Lindsey 'hey,' for me," I said hazily, wondering if I should believe the fluttering in my stomach that told me Catherine had just blatantly flirted with me. I heard a muffled, "Hey, Sara," from somewhere in the background, before Catherine had even relayed my message. I immediately began a mental checklist of everything I'd said in the conversation, ensuring the younger Willows hadn't overheard anything incriminating. Concluding that I had indeed behaved myself, I heard Lindsey bid her mother farewell, presumably off to school.

Catherine sighed. "Well, as much as I'd rather stay up and chat, I suppose I ought to try and catch a couple hours of sleep."

"Yeah, you really should," I agreed sympathetically, not really wanting her to go, but vividly recalling the grueling hours our work entailed. To be a mother, the team supervisor, and not to mention understaffed — quite frankly, I wasn't sure how she managed it all. It was just another bullet point on the infinite list of things that made Catherine amazing.

"Alright," she yawned, the idea of sleep apparently becoming quite appealing. "Talk to you soon?"

"Of course." I swear she could have actually heard my grin at the thought of her next call. "Sweet dreams," I teased, sounding much less sarcastic and, again, much more flirtatious than I meant to.

I knew I was in trouble at the little hum she gave before replying, "Sweeter if you were here," in her overtly 'come-hither' tone.

"Catherine!" I gasped, not quite believing she had just taken it to that level. I still wasn't sure if she thought this was just our little game, throwing sexual innuendos back and forth for shits and giggles, or if she was truly trying to be seductive. Even if she was flirting on purpose, there was always the possibility that that was all the further she ever intended to take it, aside from her last night here. My mind raced through this same list of possibilities every time she said something like that, leaving my mouth paralyzed, and once again I sat speechless as she chuckled at my outburst.

"Bye, Sara," she finally called in a sugar coated voice.

"Bye," I squeaked back, though I'm not entirely sure I managed to do so before the line went dead.

If talking to Catherine was my addiction, hanging up was coming down from the high. Even as much as I yearned just to hear her voice, I knew that afterward I would, in some ways, feel worse than before. Somehow I would miss her even more, without even seeing her I would have found new things to miss. A new glimmer of hope would present itself to me, elating me briefly before becoming just another fire I had to struggle to snuff out.

This time, though, something was different. I couldn't put my finger on what it was exactly — the timing of the call, her nerves, or her seemingly blatantflirtation. Perhaps it was a combination of all three, though really it didn't matter what the cause was. Either way, the fact remained that this particular flame refused to be extinguished.

I chastised myself for allowing this hopeful feeling to curse through me, knowing I could very well be setting myself up for the ultimate heartache. Despite my persistent mental scolding, the feeling remained, infusing me with the sense of courage that I had been seeking for the better part of a week.

That number was back on my screen, glaring at me, daring me to press the call button. To say I felt bold was not to say I wasn't still scared; I was terrified out of my mind. This could all go to hell so quickly, and then what?

Fear was beginning to wriggle its way back to the forefront. If I was ever going to make this call, the time was now or it would never happen. Certain I was about to lose my nerve, I jammed my thumb down on the 'send' key with more force than necessary, using every ounce of willpower I possessed to bring the phone up to my ear and keep it there. With each ring that passed unanswered, that voice in my head kept telling me, _You can still hang up, there's still time to back out. _

After four rings, my stomach lurched, hearing the faint crackling on the other end of the line that told me someone had picked up.

"This is Ecklie."

No time to back out now. I took a deep breath, hoping I hadn't lost the ability to switch it over to business-mode.

"Hello, Conrad."

He paused briefly, I presume taking a moment to place my voice. "Sara Sidle," he sneered once he had. "I must admit, I never thought I'd actually be glad to hear from you."

Good to know he hadn't changed a bit. "Heartfelt, Ecklie," I said dryly, "Really, I'm touched."

"Let's skip the pleasantries, Sidle. All I want to hear is that you're coming back, so I can see the end of these 'Catherine the Sidle Hunter' missions CSI Willows has apparently deemed a part of her job description."

For the second time I wondered just how many of these 'missions' had taken place, but now was not the time to ask.

"Yes," I replied, finding the response came much easier than I had expected. "I want to come back. To the night shift, that is."

He chuckled humorlessly. "After what I've dealt with, you'd have a hell of a time getting me to place you anywhere else. How soon can you start?"

I was surprised to find that Ecklie was not just willing, but apparently eager to get me back. I smiled to myself, thinking Catherine must have really put him through the ringer.

"I can be on a plane tomorrow," I offered, shocking myself a little. I hadn't expected this all to fall into place so quickly; I thought I'd have just a little more time.

"Great, do it," he barked, though I decided to let the commanding tone slide — just this once. "Paperwork will all be filled out by the time you arrive. Stop by my office first thing Monday night, sign it, and we can all get back to work… _finally_."

I knew I shouldn't needle, but Ecklie wouldn't technically be my boss again for another three days, and I couldn't resist the opportunity. "Gee, Conrad. Sounds like Catherine's really got you pinned under her dainty little thumb there."

"You ever tried telling that woman 'no', Sidle?" he grumbled.

"As a matter of fact, I have," I replied.

"And how'd that work out for you?"

I laughed. It didn't work out well; telling Catherine 'no' never did.

"I'll see you Monday, Conrad."

"That well, huh?" he replied snidely. "Monday it is then."

Just as I was about to end the call, another thought occurred to me. "Ecklie, wait, one more thing," I jumped before he disappeared. "Do me a favor… Don't tell the team — or Catherine — that I'm coming just yet?"

"Fine. You can make your surprise grand entrance Monday night. _Goodbye_, Sara."

"Thank you," I said quickly before I hung up the phone.

My hands shook a little when I went to light another cigarette, for the first time out of excitement more than nerves.

Three days… I was going to see Catherine again in just three days.

For the moment, it almost didn't seem to matter where our relationship stood, because, if nothing else, I got to see her. I was fairly certain, after our recent time together, I would also get to hug her, to hold her for even that brief moment, to feel her tiny body in my arms and smell her hair.

It was funny to me, after all my years being married to the job, that Catherine had now become the one aspect I looked forward to above everything. I loved being a CSI; I loved Vegas, even with its flaws; Greg was my best friend, and Nick was a close second. I waited in anticipation for all of it, but still it was Catherine that had somehow leaped forth from the tail end and taken a commanding lead. Though, she'd never truly been in last place; to be honest, I guess it had just taken me all those years to realize she was even in the race. Whether or not she was actually competing was a whole other question.

I hadn't really intended to make a 'surprise grand entrance'; I had just wanted to be the one to tell Catherine. Now though, the idea didn't sound half bad, condescending as Ecklie may have intended to be. I wouldn't have to call each of the boys to let them know, I wouldn't have to worry that I'd forgotten anyone. Best of all, though: I would get to see the look on Catherine's face when I told her. Not to mention, it's a lot harder to chicken out face-to-face than it is over the phone. So, I decided, a surprise it would be.

I stubbed out my cigarette without finishing, suddenly feeling like I had more to do than time to do it. I needed to pack, and schedule a flight. Having never officially unpacked certainly made that task easier, as did my haphazardly throwing possessions back into boxes a week ago. Still, I needed to prepare.

As I stepped back into the apartment I had never truly settled into, it really hit me: I was going back to Vegas. Back to Catherine.

I was going home.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Oh, you REALLY thought I was dead this time, didn't you? Well I'm not, and neither is this fic. If there is one thing I will do in this life before I die, it is to finish this story. I know it has been a very, very long time coming. I tried, I swear I tried to update sooner, but it just wasn't happening. I know what the next bit is now, and I know where it's going, and I have the drive to write it again, so hopefully there are at least a few of you that didn't totally give up on me!_

_Shout out to MyxNyx, for being my homie and for updating Sara's Baby, which is really what got me itching to work on my own story in the first place!_

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Booking a flight for the next day was more expensive then I'd expected, but I hoped I could persuade Ecklie to comp me for the cost. Then again, even if he refused, I could hardly pretend that I didn't think it was worth every last cent. An arm, a leg, my soul — I'd still have paid, with the smile of a love-stuck fool pasted on my face.

I'd packed a suitcase of things I thought I'd need for camping out in a hotel room while I looked for a place in Vegas. The rest I planned on shipping to a storage unit, tossing the remaining loose items into existing boxes of chaos. I gave notice to the landlord, then, realizing there was really nothing left to do but sit and wait, began unpacking and repacking the boxes in a more orderly fashion; restless, but too preoccupied with the move to focus on anything unrelated to it.

I was more excited than nervous, but as the hours ticked by, each one bringing the moment closer, I began to feel more and more afraid. I began to doubt whether I could really do this, but the flight was booked, the hotel reservation made. I told myself that these things set my decision in stone. I was afraid if I let myself think there was a choice, I might back out.

I did get on the flight, though. I made it to the hotel, and checked into the room that I now found myself pacing about. After days of wanting nothing more than to see Catherine again, even just to be in the same room together, Monday had finally come. Mere hours from now, I would indeed be surrounded by the same four walls as the woman I couldn't get out of my head. In my heart, I couldn't have wanted this more, and yet that one nagging thought kept flashing through my mind:

_How do I get out of this?_

People seem to think of me as a fighter; I suppose I have made it through some pretty harrowing ordeals in my life, maybe that's why. The truth is though, if there is a choice, I will chose flight every time. I ran from San Francisco to the lights of Vegas, from Vegas to Costa Rica's tropical jungles, from the jungle to snow covered streets in Minneapolis. It's in my nature to run; when it all becomes too much, when things get scary.

So many things about this frightened me. Stupid things, like worrying that Catherine wouldn't be as thrilled as she was in every fantasy version of our reunion my imagination concocted; to irrational things, like thinking she could have changed her mind, and didn't want me back in Vegas at all. That maybe, after what happened between us, she had taken comfort in knowing that I was a chicken shit, thinking I probably wouldn't come back anyway.

I could clearly see my logic was flawed — after all, she wouldn't have continued to try and persuade me if she'd hoped I wouldn't come. That wasn't Catherine. Still, as usual, my emotions overpowered rational thought.

There were also the completely relevant fears that I would somehow fuck everything up, that it really would be too hard to just be friends, that I was setting myself up for disappointment and, ultimately, heartbreak. Even if everything about my arrival went smoothly, I wasn't sure I could handle whatever followed without having a nervous break down. I wasn't even entirely sure that I wasn't already in the middle of one.

So, my instincts told me — _screamed_ at me to run. Run now, run fast, and don't ever look back. Every nerve in my body itched to obey, but I was getting so tired of running. For once in my life, I had a reason to fight. Against my instincts, against my doubts, and against my fear. No matter if I spent every last minute up until shift wondering how I could get out of this, I wouldn't take the cowardly way out. I would fight, because I knew I would hate myself forever if I didn't. Besides, if my flighty nature had taught me anything at all, it was that the old saying is true: You can run, but you can't hide.

I sat down on the bed and began watching the clock, trying to slow down time while wishing to fast-forward it. My fingers trailed down a strand of my freshly cut hair, testing the new length of it; just as Catherine's fingers had once done. My flight had gotten in late Saturday evening, though I'd intended to try and stay awake through the night anyway, in an attempt to begin readjusting to a more nocturnal schedule. Restless nerves made this more of a requirement than a choice, but I supposed it was just as well.

I'd stared at my reflection, wondering if maybe it had any ideas as to what I should do with myself the rest of the night. _I just barely recognize you_, Catherine's voice replayed in my head, _your hair is long_. It was almost down to the middle of my back, and it wasn't really 'me', I decided. Would Catherine run her fingers through it again if I changed it? _Your hair is shorter_, I imagined her saying, toying with the cropped edges. Well, it was worth a shot.

God bless Vegas for never sleeping, even the hotel salon was 24 hours. The casino and shops were bustling with life, even in the middle of the night, though not many people opt for an impromptu haircut at one in the morning, so getting an appointment wasn't really difficult. In no time at all, a young woman was hacking off the past 6 months with her sheers. I imaged it was literally all those days and weeks spent alone that she was severing, leaving just an inch or so past my shoulders — the pieces I wanted to remember: my sessions with Carroll, my revelation to Matt at the bar, and, most of all, the time spent with Catherine. The rest I would leave behind in a pile on the floor, soon to be swept up, thrown away, and forgotten.

I knew life was never really that simple. You couldn't just cut away the unpleasant bits and toss them in the dumpster like a dead body. Maybe a morbid metaphor, but, being a CSI, I feel I can say with great authority that sometime, somewhere, something will surely dredge it back up and into the open eventually. There is a difference, though, between fooling yourself into thinking you've buried your past, and letting it go. I was trying to let it go. Maybe you can never lose it completely, but perhaps you can recycle it, grind it up into compost to use as fertilizer for a better future. It had to be a better idea than sitting around with a bucket full of rotting trash.

It was ten minutes after eleven o'clock now. Less than an hour to go until shift. Half that, counting paperwork and travel time. Another minute ticked by, the neon digits on the clock now displaying '11:11'. I never was one for whimsical things like making wishes. It was a silly thing to do, and it's not like it had ever done me any good to sit around and hope for anything. Today was no different, I knew that, but still I closed my eyes and pleaded with these supposed gods of the clock to let this night go smoothly. When I opened my eyes again the minute had passed, and I hoped I had gotten my request in on time, if anyone was actually listening.

With another eighteen long, yet somehow too short, minutes to go before hitting the road, I couldn't take another moment of sitting in this room, or watching the clock. I had checked myself in the mirror repeatedly, I had organized and reorganized the items which I needed to take with me for the evening. There was simply nothing left to do here other than watch the clock and slowly drive myself mad.

There was, however, just enough time for a quick smoke break. I had thought about trying to quit, knowing Catherine was less than thrilled that I'd picked up the habit again. While saying that 'now is not the best time to quit' may be the most cliché reasoning for any smoker, I felt pretty confident that there would be far better moments than this. I'd rather return to my former colleagues and friends as a smoker than as the short-tempered bitch in nicotine withdrawal.

I stepped out of the main door and into the Vegas air, noting how different it was from the air in the Midwest. It was warmer, not just in temperature, and it felt thicker somehow, in a way that once seemed oppressing but was now a comforting embrace. I lit my cigarette and took a hard drag, relishing in the slight relief it provided from my anxiety. The relief was short lived as I realized: This was it. These were the last moments before I would return to the life I'd abandoned, or begin a new life, or perhaps just start living life in earnest. Whichever it was, by the time I finished this cigarette it would be upon me.

There's a fairy tale I remember from my childhood, though I'm not sure when I would have heard it. In the story, a little girl is trying to find her way to another land. She meets the Old Man of the Earth, who reveals to her a deep hole in the floor of a cave, saying that is the way she must go. When the little girl remarks that there are no stairs, the Old Man tells her, _"You must throw yourself in. There is no other way."_

As I got into my car and started for the lab, I realized this was just as true for me. There was no easing into this, nothing to make it simple. There were no stairs. There was no 'halfway'. I had to throw myself into it headlong, just like that little girl in the story, and hope that I wouldn't crash into rock at the other end.

Pulling into the parking lot felt like the long awaited return from a great battle, somewhat akin to a soldier coming home from war. Not to trivialize the sacrifices of the men and women fighting true battles of flesh and blood. It was my own personal battle, a war within myself, and now that I'd ceased fire it was finally time to go home. It surprised me just how much it actually felt like a homecoming, I wasn't sure I'd ever felt that way about anywhere before.

My eyes automatically scanned the lot for Catherine's car, realizing as I did so that this was not the first time. I'd always checked for Catherine's car. I spotted it easily, my heart apparently deciding to split itself in two, so as to lodge itself in my throat and my gut simultaneously. She was already here.

I looked to the building's entrance. _You must throw yourself in. _Taking a deep breath, I opened the car door. _There is no other way. _No more time for nerves or doubts. I had speculated and worried all I could. Now I just had to do it, no matter if my legs felt more like jell-o with each step and my hands wobbled accordingly.

Somehow, I made it through the door. A strange sense of calm washed over me, being enveloped by the sight of something so familiar; a place I knew I'd missed, but hadn't realized just how much so until this very moment. I tried to keep a low profile, hoping no one would notice me until I'd had a chance to seek out Catherine. First thing's first though, I had to find Ecklie. I wanted it to be a done deal, completely official, by the time I found her. Checking in at the front desk, there was a woman I didn't recognize in Judy's place. Guess I couldn't expect everything to be the same as before; it's not like someone pressed pause on Vegas while I was away. Life moves on, with or without you.

On the plus side, the woman wouldn't recognize me either, making it that much easier to stay under the radar for the time being. I marched straight to Ecklie's office, the winding layout of the building not lost to my memory after all these months. Even if it had been, I speculated that muscle memory would have prevailed, and my legs would have led me to my destination anyway. I belonged here, and every bone in my body knew it.

"Sara. Thank god," Ecklie proclaimed dryly when I entered the room, though I detected just a hint of sincerity in his voice.

"Worried I wouldn't show?" I asked with some amusement.

His back was to me now as he shuffled through papers on his desk, not bothering to look up. "You did leave us rather abruptly," he said by way of explanation.

Guilty. "I… apologize for that," I offered reluctantly, accepting the file he had finally unearthed and extended to me.

"Consider it forgotten — this time," he said, begrudgingly. "Loathe as I am to admit it, Sidle, you are the salvation to a 6 month long pain in my ass."

I couldn't help but smirk. "Would that pain in your ass be Catherine?"

"Yes," he sneered. "Honestly, Sara, I never would have pegged you two as being so attached at the hip. Am I the only one who remembers when she tried to have you fired?"

That stung a little, but it was the past. Fertilizer. I was letting it go. "That was a long time ago, Conrad. Things change."

"Well, let's hope your return marks a change for the better. If nothing else, perhaps I can at least count on keeping CSI Willows around the lab, instead of running off like some freelance bounty hunter."

I was still hesitant to ask, but my curiosity had reached its boiling point and finally bubbled over. "Just how many times did she come looking for me?"

"Several," he snorted bitterly. "She's your new 'BFF', talk to her about it. Paper work just needs your signature, as promised. Leave it on my desk and report to Willows for your assignment when you've finished." He started for the door, apparently deciding he had somewhere more important to be, but turned back around at the last second. "Oh, and Sidle? Try and keep the girl talk to a minimum. There'll be plenty of time for the two of you to have a slumber party and braid each other's hair _after _work." Seemingly satisfied with his parting jab, he made his exit before I could counter.

Just a few minutes later, and everything was signed, tucked back in it's folder, and waiting on Ecklie's desk. Now, to find Catherine. My stomach fluttered at the thought, and I inhaled deeply, hoping to still it. No luck. Very well then, it's not like I could turn back now anyway; there's no stopping a free fall. Time to find out whether I'd land on my feet, or crash.

Barely a minute after I'd begun stalking the halls in search of Catherine, my phone rang. Speak of the devil — or angel, if I wanted to get cheesy about it. Realizing she had no idea we were in the same state, let alone the same building, I quickly decided a little teasing was definitely in order.

"Hey, Cat," I answered, continuing my prowl, but now with that stupid smile on my face.

"I am going to _kill_ Ecklie." She was definitely pissed. "I swear on all things holy, Sara — I am going to kill him. He's a dead man walking."

Having a pretty good idea as to what had set her off, I replied in a cheerful tone, "I'm doing well, Catherine. Thank you for asking. How is your day going?"

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "This night is shit. Ecklie just told me he hired someone to help on grave."

I was pleased to note that Ecklie had managed to keep his mouth shut, and decided to let his next snide remark slide in return.

"Oh, yeah. That... that could be bad." Between my excitement and my ongoing search to distract me, I wasn't playing my own game very well.

"_Could_ be bad?" she repeated incredulously. "Are you even listening to me? He filled the position, Sara! You know, the one I've been busting my ass to keep open for _you_. Remember that one? Or did it just slip your mind?"

I wanted to tease her, not incur her wrath, so I chose my next words carefully.

"Of course it didn't, Catherine. It's all I've thought about since you asked." Realizing there was an easier way to go about finding her, I paused, asking as nonchalantly as possible, "Where are you right now?"

"Break room," she replied flippantly, luckily too preoccupied to care why I would ask. Then the anger was back. "How are you so god damn calm about this?"

"Well, one of us really ought to be," I replied, now certain I was heading in the right direction.

Catherine let out an exasperated sigh, and I took pity on her. "Hey, don't let it get you down just yet," I consoled, lowering my voice as the break room entered my field of vision, and became within earshot. "Maybe you'll be pleasantly surprised. Maybe they'll be just what you're looking for."

Trying to stay out of sight in a building full of glass walls is no easy feat. Peering as cautiously as I could, I saw Nick and Greg sitting at the table, facing away from the door. Catherine made her way towards the coffee pot, turning her back to the entrance as well. Perfect.

"They're not," she replied, filling a mug and reaching for the sugar. "I don't care who it is, or how great they are. I don't want them."

I could now hear both Catherine's voice, and the delayed echo of it coming from my cell. Surprising, considering how loud my own heart beat was in my ears. This was the moment.

Moving fully into doorway, I kept the phone to my ear, still speaking into the receiver, but at normal volume so Catherine would hear me behind her. I couldn't stop grinning.

"Well, I guess I came all this way for nothing, then."

* * *

_A/N: The story Sara refers to is "The Golden Key" by George Macdonald. The passage is this:_

_The Old Man of the Earth stooped over the floor of the cave, raised a huge stone from it, and left it leaning. It disclosed a great hole that went plumb-down.__  
"That is the way," he said.__  
"But there are no stairs."  
__"You must throw yourself in. There is no other way."_

**_Pretty please review of course, I promise this time there is more to come, and it won't take me a year to deliver!_**


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Betcha didn't see this one coming, eh? Another update, in less than two weeks! I know, I'm pretty shocked myself, can't lie. Sorry for the cliffie, I forget sometimes how that turns you all into such angry little hornets! _

_**NOW LISTEN UP BECAUSE THIS IS IMPORTANT!** Something, somehow went terribly haywire after I posted chapter 11. It simply stopped showing up, even via the link in the email alert. I feel like some people might have thought ch10 was the most recent, and worry people on the alert list might see this chapter in their email and go straight for it. If you fit into any such category, GO BACK AND READ CHAPTER 11 NOW. Read, at the very least, and if it's your first time reading it, since I was so nice to alert you, maybe you will be so kind as to review it before moving on to this chapter, yes? I knew it. You're the best. ;) _

* * *

Three heads whipped around to face me when I spoke. Smiling uncertainly as I locked eyes with Catherine, I raised my phone in the air, making a dramatic display of ending the call. For a moment, no one else moved — Catherine even still held her phone up to her ear. It was only for a second, maybe less, but it was the longest second I have ever experienced. Finally, the boys sprang back to life.

"No freaking way!" Greg exclaimed, followed a split second later by Nick's hopeful question, "You're back?"

My attention turned their way as they pushed out their chairs to stand. "I'm back," I confirmed, turning my gaze and a grin towards Catherine. She still stood there, frozen stock still, though the hand holding her phone had wilted down to around her shoulder.

Just as the guys made it to their feet, reality seemed to hit home for Catherine. Chucking her phone carelessly onto the counter behind her, she launched herself towards me, flinging her arms around my neck before Nick or Greg even had a chance to take a step forward.

I half noticed their sidelong glance to one another upon Catherine's blatant and, to them, unprecedented, display of affection. Then, Catherine spoke, and for a moment I forgot them completely.

"This better not be some sort of cruel joke, Sidle." She weakly attempted a serious tone.

I wrapped my arms even farther around her, tightening my hold. "No jokes, I promise," I whispered. Had it ever felt this incredible just to hold another person in my arms? I wanted to dissolve into the moment and live inside this feeling forever.

"And you're here to stay?" she murmured to my shoulder.

I nodded, taking the opportunity to sneak my nose into her hair for the briefest of seconds. "I'm here to stay."

"C'mon, Cath, you just saw her!" Nick shattered the moment. "Let us get a hug in."

"Yeah, quit being a Sara-hog," Greg added.

Catherine slowly let go of her hold on me, looking just a little sheepish, hands immediately moving to smooth her hair and clothes. "Sorry," she muttered with an impish smile, shaking her head a little as if working herself out of a trance. I smiled adoringly at her, not even bothering with an attempt to conceal my affection this time. I couldn't remember the last time I'd smiled so much.

I turned my attention to Nick and Greg, hugging each of them wholeheartedly. They told me how much they'd missed me, how great it was to have me back, and I assured them the feeling was mutual. I might not have ever come back had it not been for Catherine, but now I realized it was more than just her that I'd left behind. Catherine was just one, albeit very compelling, reason for me to stick around this time. I could handle this. Even if the worst-case scenario came true, if things went to hell with Catherine, or even just didn't work out exactly to my liking. No matter what, I'd still have my brothers — which is, for all intents and purposes, what these two men were — to fall back on.

With greetings to the guys finished, I once again turned to Catherine, uncertain of what should happen next. She shook her head again, slowly this time, almost like she was disbelieving of what her eyes told her she was seeing. She looked to be on the verge of tears, but I knew she wouldn't cry. Catherine was too tough for that, and too stubborn to let anyone see it in those rare moments when strength failed her. I wondered though, if the withheld tears were ones of relief for my return to the team, or, just maybe, of joy for the simple fact of my presence here now. I hoped for the latter, of course, but for the first time I felt it didn't really matter at the moment. All that mattered was that I was here, and so was she.

Catherine surprised me again, and certainly our male counterparts as well, by gingerly raising both hands to either side of my head, until her fingers brushed gently against my brown locks.

"You cut your hair," she said, delighting me by trailing her fingers lazily down the cropped strands and smiling. "I like it."

I grinned back, probably a little too widely, holding back the chuckle just itching to be released from the back of my throat. "Thanks," I replied, feeling a little victorious. I couldn't believe that plan actually worked.

This time, it was Greg that burst the bubble. "Just exactly what type of 'female bonding' did the two of you do out there in the Midwest?"

Both Catherine and I had turned to Greg when he spoke, our eyes now meeting again in a brief, awkward glance. I could only assume by her reaction that the images that flashed through her mind were similar to those in my own. Images that were most certainly not to be shared with Nick or Greg, or anyone else for that matter.

"What?" Catherine said after only a second, though I could tell our hesitation, however short, did not go unnoticed. "You act like Sara and I were never friends."

"Now, no one said that, exactly," Nick replied.

"Not in so many words," I accused, not enjoying the implication.

"Not in any words, Sara," Nick countered. "Look, we know you all are," he paused to look at me pointedly, "and _were, _friends. You just never seemed quite so…"

"Tactile," Greg provided.

"I was going to say 'close'," Nick continued. "But yeah, tactile. That works too."

I opened my mouth to argue, not really sure what I was going to say given the fact that they weren't exactly wrong. Luckily, Catherine beat me to it, saving us both from whatever hasty retaliation I might have spewed forth.

"If you're just about done analyzing mine and Sara's relationship, I believe there are still cases to be solved," she said, her tone switching from that of Catherine the friend into that of Supervisor Willows. The guys were clearly well aware that this meant the end of their prodding, at least for now. I, on the other hand, couldn't help thinking how incredibly sexy it was to see Catherine take charge like that. She had told me that the team was discombobulated as of late, but I could hardly imagine the reason had anything to do with her leadership. The position fit her like a custom-made leather glove. An extremely, surprisingly, and oddly sexy glove.

"Sara can help out on my case," Nick offered to Catherine, "You know, just to get back into the swing of things."

"No way, dude!" Greg said, cutting off Catherine before she made a sound. "You've already got Langston working with you. I'm flying solo. Sara should be paired with me."

Feathers were obviously beginning to ruffle, and I could tell we were on the brink of an all out sandbox war. I imagined the two of them sitting on the playground, playing tug o' war with some children's toy. '_It's mine!' 'No, it's mine!' _The visual, as well as their bickering, made me smirk.

Catherine sensed the impending pissing contest as well. "Neither of you get her," she announced authoritatively, ending the dispute before it could really begin. "We're all excited to have Sara back, but we're still on the clock and there is work to do. There'll be plenty of time to catch up after shift." Turning back to me, she ordered, "Sidle, you'll be with me."

The command was offset by a little wink as she finished, concealed from the view of the guys. I pursed my lips in avoidance of grinning back at her. "You're the boss," I lamely feigned defeat, the grin breaking free of it's own accord as I spoke.

We agreed that the four of us would meet for breakfast at the end of shift, then, after another set of hugs from Nick and Greg, split off to tend to our separate cases. Catherine and I stopped in the locker room before rolling out to our scene.

"Sara, I can't begin to tell you how much this means to me," Catherine said while she gathered her things.

"It's nothing," I said with a shrug, inwardly glowing at her comment.

"It's not nothing," she replied sternly. "I know it was a huge thing to ask of you, and I know it was a difficult decision for you to make. I want you to know that I recognize that, and how much I appreciated that you were even considering it. I'm just glad you chose to come back. You're a lifesaver — and if you'd waited any longer to tell me, Ecklie would certainly agree to that."

I laughed, thinking I probably had indeed saved Ecklie from certain doom at Catherine's hand. Maybe not death, but he'd most likely be wishing for it. It was the statement just prior to her little joke, though, that was left reverberating in my mind: _You're a lifesaver. _There it was. I was her hero, just as I'd dreamed of. It felt more amazing than I'd imagined, just knowing that I had done this one thing for her and put that smile on her face.

Something inside me tried to retaliate against her praises, tempting me to argue that it really wasn't that big of a deal. _Sara, just take the compliment, _her previous words echoed in my head again, and so I obeyed. "Well, you're welcome then," I sputtered awkwardly. "And thank you, for saying all that."

She just smiled in return, and I could tell she knew she'd gotten through to me on that one. The subject was dropped temporarily, until we were on the way to our scene.

With anyone else, I usually took command of the wheel, but then so does Catherine. When it was just the two of us, she generally won the role of driver. It might have bothered me sometimes in the past, and perhaps would again someday in the future. For today, though, I was glad to let her have it, much preferring to direct my gaze towards the city whizzing around me and, when I could chance it, towards Catherine.

"What made you change your mind?" she asked, somewhat out of the blue.

"About what?" I asked.

"About coming back," she clarified. "What made you decide you wanted to?"

I knew she assumed that the change of heart had occurred after she left, when really it had happened the moment she'd asked. Saying she was the reason seemed a little too telling at the moment, though. "I always wanted to, Cat," I said instead. "It was just a matter of finding the courage to do it."

"What were you so afraid of?" she asked sympathetically.

I laughed lightly. "More than we have time to get into at the moment."

She nodded in understanding and let it go. "Have you found a place in Vegas yet?"

"Not yet," I told her. "I only made the decision a couple days ago. I was just focused on actually getting myself here."

"A couple days ago?" she asked. "I hope you didn't rush yourself on my behalf."

"Only a little," I teased. "But you're worth it." _Shit. _My internal monologue had sneaked its way past my lips unexpectedly at the last second. Why did it have to be something so obvious? If this was how things were going to happen now, I might just as well start carrying around a big rainbow flag with a heart-shaped picture of Catherine in the middle. It would probably be about as subtle, in the long run.

I felt the familiar heat in my cheeks that Catherine seemed to provide an endless supply of. I prayed she wouldn't look my way until I'd cooled down, but of course she did. To my surprise, she just smiled, and I dared to think she actually looked quite satiated by my accidental confession.

The moment was brief, her eyes back on the road in less than a second, but a still-frame of that smile was now pasted to my memory. In my mind's eye, I couldn't stop staring at it. If a picture's worth a thousand words, that mental snapshot seemed to speak volumes — if only I could understand what it was saying. The butterflies in my stomach seemed to think they knew, but I didn't have time to listen right now, and told them to quiet down.

"So, where are you staying then?" she continued to question me. When I told her I had a hotel room, she seemed flabbergasted. "You aren't seriously be planning to live in a hotel room until you find a place, are you?" At my guilty silence, she continued. "Sara, that is a tremendous waste of money. Not to mention, you and I both know what kind of disgusting trace lingers in those rooms."

"Thank you, now I feel like I need to shower again," I said dryly. "It's not like there was really another option, unless I wanted to sleep in my car, or a cardboard box on the street."

"Or my house," she added in a voice that said the option should have been obvious.

"What?" I half yelped, my mind going in the absolute wrong direction, with a whole new set of snapshots. _Catherine in my bed. Waking with Catherine in my arms. Cuddled up beside me on the futon. Cooking breakfast in her underwear. Kissing Catherine. Touching Catherine… _

"I can't stay at your house!" I declared with a bit too much alarm.

Catherine looked taken aback. "Why not?"

I couldn't very well tell her it was because then she'd be everywhere, all the time. That it increased the odds in favor of me doing or saying something incredibly stupid. That I didn't trust myself to keep it together in her presence. So, instead, I eloquently replied, "Because…"

"Well, unless you can come up with a better reason than 'because', I suggest you take me up on the offer," she said, using an only slightly milder version of the Supervisor Willows tone. "Or you might run the risk of seriously offending me."

I could tell that last bit was meant to be somewhat of a joke, though my brain was too busy scrambling for a logical argument for me to acknowledge it.

"Oh, come on, Sara," she piped up again, apparently taking my silence for defiance. "What's the worst that could happen?" For another split second our eyes met, and again I knew we were thinking the same thing. Clearly, so did Catherine, and she immediately began speaking again. "I mean, I stayed at your place, so it's only fair. Besides, I told you how grateful I am that you're back. Won't you just let me do this one thing for you?"

I glared at her a moment, though she didn't notice, which was just as well since the glare was really directed at myself for knowing that I was about to cave.

"Fine." I tried to sound annoyed, only to realize I was smiling again. Just because staying with Catherine was a terrible idea, one that should be avoided at all costs, by no means meant that I didn't really, really want to. "Just for a few days."

"Good," Catherine gleamed, while I instantaneously both rejoiced and regretted my consent. How did I get myself into these situations? If I listened solely to my emotions, then obviously I wanted nothing more than to be anywhere in her vicinity whenever possible. Of course, logic, ever the wet blanket, was always right there, whispering in my other ear. It would be trying enough, staying in such close quarters with the woman I was falling in love with, possibly already fallen for completely, unable express it to her. Knowing what it felt like to hold her, to kiss her, to pleasure and be pleasured by her — it all only made it that much more tormenting.

That last night together in Minneapolis, I had known it was plausible that I was seizing my one and only opportunity to be with Catherine that way, to be that close, that intimate. In the moment, you're certain that once is better than never. Now, I wasn't so sure; after all, you can't miss something you never knew.

Maybe I had made a mistake, sleeping with Catherine, though I couldn't honestly bring myself to actually regret it. Knowing might make it hurt a little more, but at least I had that happy memory to slip back into if it got too painful. Besides, I didn't figure I'd want her any less had we not been together physically, since it was so much more than her body or her lips that I desired. I wanted her smile, her laugh, her heart and affection. I wanted her stubbornness, her wrath, her brutal honesty. I wanted all if it, every last bit of her, no exceptions.

It's terrifying to want so much of something so badly, knowing you may never attain it at all. I had no idea if Catherine felt, or could ever feel the same way about me as I did her. One thing I did know, though, was that night in my bed, she had wanted me. In the long run, it might very well turn out to have been a mistake, but right now it was my glimmer of hope. If she wanted me then, maybe it was possible that she did still.

So much had changed in the few short days Catherine had spent in my home. Maybe agreeing to stay with her would prove to be just another faux pas, but perhaps it would force reality out into the open. Even if it came as a crushing blow, at least it would be over and done with. I told myself this was the most likely scenario, yet still, I couldn't help but hope.


End file.
